It's not too late, it's never too late
by I-write-hurt-not-comfort
Summary: Noé still didn't know why he brought this homeless addict into his home / modern human AU / rated M for drug addiction/withdrawal / features mentions of VanixJeanne, DomixJeanne and eventual Vannoé
1. Chapter 1: Prologue

_**(A/Ns: no, i do not have the time to be starting a new fic right now. Yes, i did anyway. This is only a prologue so other chapters will be around 5,000 words. There are plans for 6 chapters, however don't expect updates to be quick bc i have 2 other fics occupying my time. Shoutout to nawnomschnuff on Tumblr for giving me most of the ideas for this fic. And yeah, the title is from the song.**_

 _ **Content warnings for the fic in general include: drug addiction, withdrawals, swearing, some violence, mentions of underage, smoking etc. the usual triggers to expect in a fic written by me.**_

 _ **Please drop a review if you can!**_

 _ **Disclaimer: i do not own Case Study of Vanitas or any of the characters)**_

* * *

 _Chapter 1: Prologue_

Noé had never really liked the snow.

It wasn't because it was cold; no, he'd grown up in the depths of a forest in the goddamn middle of nowhere. He was more than used to coldness. It was more to do with the inconvenience of it. Driving home became five times more stressful, and even walking the small stretch of backstreets to his car posed the risk of slipping and falling. And in those alleys, he really didn't want to be falling over.

But walking through those potentially dangerous backstreets were the same most nights.

Most.

 _Most_ meaning every night until now.

He was only a few minutes from the car park when his senses were heightened by a quiet, almost inaudible… groaning?

Noé, having stopped entirely in his tracks, couldn't quite decipher what the sound was. And that just made him more concerned.

Perhaps someone was in trouble. And really, he couldn't just leave them out there. In this alley. In the snow.

And his adrenaline kicked in. Hastily, Noé shoved any lingering assumptions or suspicions to the back of his mind, following the source of the noise, turning at each corner so swiftly you'd think he actually knew where he was going.

It took less than a minute for him to find the source of the noise.

Noé paused.

It wasn't… _quite_ what he was expected.

In the secluded corner of the tiny crevasse behind the back of two buildings – nearly entirely concealed by bins – were two males, Noé assumed. Well, given the long, intricately styled hair and the excessive jewellery, the one on the bottom _could_ have been a female. And they were… on top of each other?

Nevertheless, the two appeared to be no older than their early twenties. Shameless, as well; screwing in a back-alley wasn't something Noé – or, _anyone_ – was used to seeing on their way home from work. Really, they should've been grateful it was dark.

Then he saw it. And froze.

There was blood. Lot's of blood. Blood pooling beneath them, staining the otherwise pure white snow. Tainting it.

He heard the cries again. Pain…?

It didn't really matter what it was, because the expression of pure discomfort and displeasure on the younger's face was enough to make Noé worried enough to step in.

With one swift movement, he dropped his bag, flung his coat off, and dove towards the two. Then, with a single kick, he _almost_ dutifully knocked the elder straight off the other's back, letting him slump against the adjacent wall, his muscles limp.

High. Definitely high.

"W-What the hell are you doing?!" he cried, it seemed, pressing one hand to the back of his head. "Fuckin'… son of a _bitch_ …"

Eyes sharp, Noé only had to glare at him to get his point across.

And then he ran.

The moment he was out of sight, however, Noé's façade was simply dropped. Sure, he had _some_ experience (read: a lot) in martial arts, and self-defence, but by no means was he the "bad guy".

Albeit, the other, with dark blue hair draped over his pale face, clearly wasn't impressed.

"Do you need anything?" Noé offered calmly, only now feeling the repercussions of his actions.

"How about forty for my next order," the other, still lying limp across the snow, muttered, an expression of disapproval spread across his face. A _blunt_ expression. "Since you just scared off a client…"

Noé blinked a few times. "Pardon?"

" _Client,"_ he reiterated, shaking himself off briefly before sitting up with much more effort than what should've been needed, and stretching. "Yes, me, prostitution, your local whore. You can spare me the pity, though. I'm not interested in cheap sympathy."

"Are you _seriously_ telling me that _that_ was consensual?!" Noé said, straight from his thoughts.

The other shrugged, wordlessly.

"Right, well…" Noé said hesitantly, mentally running through his rather limited options. If he really _did_ just stop him from getting money he potentially needed, he couldn't exactly just leave him there. But, at the same time, inviting him to his house or something along those lines would just show pity, and the stern expression of condemnation still donning the other's face strongly suggested that notion would not be appreciated. "Do you need me to take you home?"

He didn't say anything.

"… um…" Noé stammered a bit, unsure of how to comprehend the silence. "… where do you live?"

Once again, he got no answer. Instead, the other simply stood up, pressing one hand to his lower back and bending over with clear pain to grab his bag.

Noé continued the questions. "Do you live anywhere?"

"Hm, no."

"Well you can…" _Don't say it, don't say it, don't-_ "- come back to mine! F-For a bit…"

"I _said_ , I didn't want your pity," the other repeated, slipping a box of cigarettes out from his inside pocket and jabbing one between his teeth. With one shaky hand, he shielded the tip of the cigarette from the bitter breeze and brought the lighter up to it, flicking the flame on and drawing in a deep breath. Noé didn't mean to watch like he did, but the way in which his stress dissipated instantly was truly mesmerising. "You can leave now."

Frowning, Noé promptly took a stand. "No. You're coming home with me."

"Mhm." Another drag, and a shake of the head. "Not happening."

"Just for a day."

"You wouldn't want someone like me in your home."

"Try me," Noé said. His expression unchanging, he spun around and locked eyes with the other, one hand extended and grabbing his collar. "One day. Just to get cleaned and fed."

The other, dropping his cigarette out of shock, froze; appearances deceived, clearly. He should've been more careful around Noé. With an exhausted and fed up 'huff', he finally gave in, yanking Noé's arm away from his and snuffing the cigarette out with the heel of his shoe. "Fine. But you're buying me another pack of cigarettes."

Noé shot him a question glance. "I thought you didn't want my help."

"Not unless it's useful for me," he said, picking up his coat and admittedly small bag of belongings. "That was my last one."

"Alright, if you don't smoke inside my house."

"Deal." He smirked, dragging a hand through his wet, matted hair.

Whilst Noé _wanted_ to feel like he'd done something good, there was still a lingering feeling that this would be much more challenging than he'd anticipated, and wherever the source of all the blood was needed medical attention. Fast. However, his top priority was still getting the other somewhere warm; his shaking hadn't gone unnoticed. "Uh, my name is… Noé, by the way. Noé Archiviste." He waited for a moment, receiving no verbal reply. "And… what should I-"

"Vanitas," the other answered, the same deviant grin tugging at his lips again. "Just call me Vanitas."


	2. Chapter 2: Revelation

_**(A/Ns: yep, im writing this fic now. Updates will be of the same-ish length, and every other Friday, so for the sake of my commission, i can promise the next update will be 27th July.**_

 _ **Content warnings: swearing, violence, smoking, drugs, addictions, graphic depictions of drug abuse, mentions/implications of rape, basically dont read if drugs are a trigger**_

 _ **Also be sure to drop a review! :D)**_

* * *

 _Chapter 2: Revelation_

Noé still didn't regret his decision.

It was about 8pm after they'd made it home in the usual Friday evening rush hour, as well as factoring in the stop at the supermarket to get a few essentials – essentials, and, the cigarettes he'd promised Vanitas.

Speaking of Vanitas, he'd gone unusually silent once they'd gotten in the car, hugging his knees to his chest, his hands trembling lightly through the gloves which he refused to take off even when prompted to. Noé pretended not to see this, albeit that wasn't very easy.

His house was on the outer skirts of the city, in a quaint area. Granted, his house was small, but it still had a driveway, a small back garden, and enough to live, particularly since he lived alone.

Vanitas followed him inside in total silence, flinging his belongings over his back and sulking matter-of-factly. As they stepped into the house, and Noé switched the lights on, Vanitas flinched visibly, fighting back the reflex to shield himself from the light.

"Okay," Noé started, hooking his coat on the rack by the door and closing the door behind them, trying not to make this painfully awkward between them. "Do you want a bath, maybe?"

Wordlessly, Vanitas shrugged.

Not helpful. "Alright… I'll run you a bath-"

"I don't need _that_ much help, jeez," Vanitas scoffed, dragging his fingers through his hair with an exhausted sigh. He just wanted – _needed_ – to be alone right now. "Can I use your bathroom?"

"Of course! I will run a bath as well," Noé declared, refusing to cross glances with Vanitas as he kicked his shoes off, watched the other do the same, and guided him upstairs. "Is there anything in particular you want to eat?"

"I don't eat meat," Vanitas answered plainly, fiddling with a few loose strands of his hair. He needed it cut, rather than washed.

"Oh, you're vegetarian?"

"No. I just don't like it."

Noé nodded, pushing open the bathroom door and letting Vanitas in before him, before turning on the taps. "Please, take your time. I'll… wash your clothes." That offer was a spur-of-the-moment sort of thing; his clothes were much fancier than what you'd assume for someone who was supposedly homeless.

Vanitas stared at him blankly for a few moments, as if his focus had wandered off momentarily. Then, he blinked. "Alright. Leave, then."

It took Noé a couple of seconds to figure out why Vanitas got rid of him, but then it clicked that he probably didn't want to just strip with this random stranger watching him. Although, surely, he was used to that, but Noé obliged anyway.

Once Noé had left, Vanitas exhaled shakily, staring down at his gloved hands before slipping them off his slender wrists, placing them over the edge of the sink. After that, with delicate yet trembling fingers, he undid the buttons on his coat, emptying the pockets and placing the important contents in his bag, his _important_ contents being a lighter, the new pack of cigarettes, a packet of pills marked with Xanax, his phone, and a considerably sized wad of cash. His earnings, you could say.

Eyes locking on the pills, he chose to keep them out, leaving them on the edge of the bath.

Once he'd removed all his clothes, he handed them to Noé through the door, though reluctantly, and slipped a towel over his slender body as the bathtub continued filling with water.

Vanitas sighed, laying eyes on the pills again. His gaze then darted to the bag, the syringe and bag of heroin sitting near the surface.

When was his last fix?

He didn't remember, but the cold flushes over-coming him and the uncontrollable shaking suggested too long – definitely more than four hours. He was used to using every three.

Ultimately, though, for reasons he couldn't fathom, Vanitas just couldn't bring himself to shoot up heroin when there was a risk of Noé barging in, unsuspectingly. In the end, he would have to do it when Noé was asleep, despite how badly he wanted it. The Xanax would have to suffice for now.

Turning the taps off, Vanitas tried so hard not to shiver as he dropped the towel, picking up the bag of pills and taking just one out. Carefully, he wiped the side of the bath dry, using a random shampoo bottle to crush the pill several times – as quietly as possible – until it was just powder. Using the same bottle, he tried to arrange the powder in as neat of a line as possible, before crouching down on one knee, lowering his head, and snorting the white powder.

Vanitas sighed again, wiping away any excess powder and waiting for the drug to begin coursing through his veins.

A couple of seconds later, it did, clouding his perception as he lowered himself into the bath. His senses were numbed, but the sensation of hot steam rising around him was mesmerising.

It could barely pass as a high, but it was better than nothing. _Anything_ was better than nothing.

Just for a moment, as he sunk further into the water, Vanitas forgot about all the shit in his life.

* * *

He was in the bath for about 40 minutes before the high from the Xanax began to wear off, and sitting in now-cold water just felt dismal. And pointless. And boring.

Like his life, really.

The pain came back, as well. It was a shooting, stabbing, agonising pain travelling from his lower back to between his legs, and his thighs, and his entire back, really. Not to mention his bloodied, and bruise wrists. But those scars weren't new; they just needed to be hidden somehow.

Vanitas really tried to clean the blood off his back, and away from everywhere where it was, where it shouldn't have been. His movement was pained, though, and restricted. It didn't really matter.

With great pain still coursing through his bones, flashes of hot and cold overcoming him, Vanitas stood up, grabbing the towel and wrapping it around him. Carefully, he bent over, pulling the plug.

It only then hit him that Noé still had his clothes.

 _Shit._

"Noé?!" Vanitas tried, his voice cracking. Pathetically.

He was still heard, nevertheless, a knock on the bathroom door from the other sounding a few seconds later. "Vanitas? Do you need something?"

"Clothes, maybe?" Vanitas replied, screwing his face up at the door, unimpressed.

"Oh…" Noé muttered. Vanitas heard him audibly shift outside the door in the corridor. "They're… still washing. I can give you, um, another pair of pyjamas?"

"Alright," Vanitas sighed after a short pause. He was drained, and freezing.

Sure enough, less than twenty seconds later, Noé had returned, opening the door just a crack and handing Vanitas a handful of neatly folded clothes. They were far too big, but it was better than wandering around this stranger's house naked.

Once that was done, Vanitas grabbed his bag, placed it in the guest room he'd been shown as his, and shuffled downstairs.

The smell of food was nearly nauseating; the drugs did that. It probably smelled, and tasted, really nice – it looked nice – but Vanitas' ability to appreciate and even stomach food had been ruined a long, long time ago.

Nonetheless, he swallowed down a gag, and wandered into the kitchen, taking a seat at the table and lifting his legs up onto the chair with him, crossing them. Wordlessly, he picked up the fork, picking at the pasta before reluctantly taking a bite.

"Is it good?" Noé asked nervously, taking a seat at the table himself, anticipating the answer.

 _I can't tell._ "I guess," Vanitas answered, suppressing the reflex to gag. Food settling in the pit of his stomach was one feeling he hadn't been familiar with for a long time.

The meal proceeded in total silence, Vanitas eating barely half of the meal place before him. With contemplating stares, Noé watched Vanitas the entire time. Maybe he was well fed, somehow.

"Is that all you're going to eat?" Noé glanced at him quizzically, resisting the urge to raise an eyebrow. He was incredibly underweight; surely he was hungry.

Nevertheless, Vanitas seemed… bitter, to be perfectly frank, a permanent expression of contempt glued to his features. Noé knew that pushing him would make it worse.

"Where can I smoke?"

"Pardon?"

"You heard me," Vanitas said blankly, standing up abruptly and heading towards the stairs. "You asked me not to smoke inside your house."

"Right!" Noé replied, glancing around. Sure, his best friend's girlfriend smoked, but his house was far from accustomed for it. Nor was his garden. "Um… my back garden?"

Wordlessly, Vanitas nodded, placing the knife and fork side by side at an exact 90-degree angle to the plate. Noé pretended not to notice his shaking hands, as he wandered upstairs. Less than 20 seconds later, he was back, the brand-new cigarette pack and lighter in his hand. For a moment, he stood staring at the door, expectantly, before Noé finally got the hint and unlocked it for him.

"Um, use the ashtray already out there. Sorry if it's… not been emptied for a while," Noé tried to laugh off the awkwardness, but only found his attempt at light humour to exacerbate it.

Vanitas stared at him blankly for a moment, tearing the cellophane wrapping off the cigarette pack and dropping it on the counter. "You don't need to apologise for everything."

"Right…" Noé bit down on his tongue before he could apologise for apologising. Vanitas seemed off, and it confused, and concerned Noé. All the sarcasm, and the causal attitude from earlier, when he'd found him, was totally gone. Instead, there was coldness. Bitterness. It made Noé wonder how broken he really was.

How much longer would he have even stayed _alive_ on the streets?

Once Vanitas had gone outside, he paused for a moment, glanced at his surroundings in contemplation, and eventually decided to just get on with cleaning.

Meanwhile, outside, Vanitas had already lit the cigarette, and was waiting for the nicotine coursing through his veins to do its job. He didn't get high from it, of course; you didn't get _high_ from cigarettes – if only. Really, all it did was take the edge off, which, when all he could think about right now was shooting up, was good enough.

With a heavy sigh, and exhale of smoke, Vanitas picked up his phone, currently resting beside the lighter and cigarettes on the bench, placed on top of one another. He might as well call his dealer; he'd sneak out tomorrow morning.

It took less than three seconds for his dealer to pick up.

 _"_ _Vani? Why're you calling me now? Did you not get the money or something?"_

Vanitas almost laughed. _Almost._ "Trust me, Dante, I have the money."

 _"_ _Huhn? Then why aren't you here? You said 8:30!"_

"Yeah, yeah, I know what I said," Vanitas drawled out, inhaling on the cigarette again and holding the smoke for a few moments. He exhaled, flicked the ash off the tip, and then continued with his sentence. "Earlier this evening, some stranger scared off a client, and took me back to his. Pity, or something stupid like that. He's just too naïve to realise he's got a drug addict under his wing."

Dante – the person on the other end of the line, his dealer – paused. _"When do you want the shit?"_

"I'm running out of H," Vanitas said, nonchalantly. Inhale. Hold. Exhale. "And the Xanax isn't working at all. Does tomorrow morning work?"

 _"_ _Sure…"_ the other groaned. _"What do you want?"_

Vanitas snorted derisively, staring down at the cigarette held between quivering fingers, ash crumbling off onto the gravel. "I honestly don't care, Dante. I just want to be high."

 _"…_ _alright, I'll see what I can do. Bye."_ A second later, Dante hung up, Vanitas falling silent again.

Tilting his head back against the wall behind the bench, his eyes lulled shut. Smoothly, he exhaled a plume of smoke through partially parted lips, watching as the smoke rose up towards the pitch-black sky, and dissipated against it.

This would've been much better if he were high.

Eventually, the cigarette was burnt right down to its filter. Vanitas sucked the life out of it, before snuffing it out in the slightly overfilled ashtray and heading back inside. It wasn't even half past nine yet, but it'd been long enough. He just wanted his fix already.

Noé was too preoccupied with washing up to even notice him come back inside. That was good; there was now less chance of him barging in on him cooking heroin. Because, no matter how much Vanitas would not show it, he was starting to appreciate – you could say – the help, and the place to stay. All he'd seen for the best of 3 years was the scum of the world. Sure, he'd probably have to sleep with Noé before he left, as payment, but the idea of that didn't even faze Vanitas at this point. He was too far gone to bother with dignity.

As expected, the heroin was placed conveniently at the top of his bag from earlier, for easy access, you could say. Swiftly, Vanitas grabbed everything he needed: a lighter, a spoon, the syringe, cotton wool, and the sacred bag of dusty white powder.

Once in the bathroom, he melted comfortably into his usual routine, opting to sit on the floor. Placing the paraphernalia in his lap, Vanitas finally drew his gaze from the bag of heroin, kneeling across to the bath and pouring just a few drops of water from the tap into the spoon. Then, he tipped half of the drug into the solute, flicking the flame of the lighter and holding it just half an inch beneath the curve in the base of the spoon. The mixture was boiling within seconds, and soon enough, the gooey, slightly brown substance was ready.

With eagerly shaking fingers, Vanitas dropped the cotton wool into the spoon, letting it absorb the mixture before jabbing the needle of the syringe into the wool. Drawing the drug into the syringe, he was finally ready. Out of habit, Vanitas flicked the side of the plastic tube, before rolling up his sleeve.

He was so numb to this stage. Without a second of hesitation, Vanitas readied the syringe at exactly the right angle. And then it was in his skin, searching for a vein which hadn't collapsed. Eventually, he got it, pulling back the piston and allowing the solution to mix into his blood. And then, it was done.

Relief could be used to describe the feeling, but really, Vanitas just felt normal again. As normal as he'd ever be, at least. There was no high, no euphoric sensation flowing through his veins; nothing.

Nothing but guilt, and self-hate.

Vision only slightly blurred, he stood up, clearing away all the evidence of what he may have been doing. A craving for cocaine was next, but Vanitas could last without that until morning.

The most he could do now was sleep, but after he had just a little something to take the edge off. He was exhausted, sure, but he _knew_ that he would not sleep if he wasn't high.

Rummaging through his bag, the best Vanitas found was enough marijuana to roll one joint. It was a ritualistic process – much like the heroin – and within a minute, he was done. Grabbing the lighter, he hastily slipped past Noé in his own bedroom, and headed for outside once again.

The joint was so small, it was hardly worth sitting down. Instead, Vanitas just kicked his foot back against the wall, and stuck the joint between his teeth. Lighting up, the first drag only gave the same numbing sensation as the heroin. In wasn't until a few more drags that the toxic fumes made him feel hazy at best.

Once he'd finished smoking what little of the drug there was left, Vanitas saw no point in staying awake for any longer. Slowly, he staggered up the stairs, collapsed onto the bed, and passed out into a drug-induced slumber less than two minutes later.

* * *

The next morning, Vanitas didn't wake up until after 9 am. It was later than he'd anticipated – sneaking out past Noé would be harder now – but, regardless, he needed to leave. It had been too long, and Vanitas could swear he could already feel himself shaking.

Granted, he had gotten up during the night, at around 3:30am, for no other reason than to shoot up. Going back to sleep that time was harder than he'd have liked, but eventually he got there, passing out into a drug haze once again.

When he did wake up, albeit groggily, the first thing which came to his mind was getting more heroin. And having a cigarette, and possibly some cocaine. But that could all wait.

With one hand buried in his dishevelled hair, Vanitas picked up his phone to track down his dealer.

Clearly, Dante was thinking of the same thing as him.

 ** _[Dante, 08:05]  
_** _where are you?_

 ** _[Dante, 08:33]  
_** _Come on, I got up early for you!_

 ** _[Dante, 08:57]  
_** _Vani, did smthn happen?_

How convenient.

As he was getting dress into the clothes placed by Noé on his bedside table, Vanitas typed out a quick reply.

 ** _[Vanitas, 09:03]  
_** _meet me at the normal place in 20_

He knew he'd have to get the train into the city, but fortunately it was only two stops, and if he remembered correctly, Noé's house had only been a couple of streets away from the station. He should be gone no longer than an hour. Hopefully, Noé wouldn't come searching for him before then.

Vanitas saw no other option than to climb out of the window, because as said previously, there was absolutely no chance that Noé would just let him wander off. Fortunately, he'd climbed out of enough windows to know how to not break an ankle – mainly to get away from the very worst of clients.

As expected, once he'd left Noé's house, it only took him 15 minutes or so to make it to the usual spot, Dante waiting with a cigarette hanging from his mouth, as always.

"Took you long enough," he said, hearing the other's footsteps approaching him from the entrance of the alley. When he caught the first glimpse of him, however, he almost gasped. "Wow, you actually _don't_ look like a drug addict for once."

Vanitas smirked, and stuck a hand on his hip. "Is that a compliment?"

"An insult against your usual self. You look high 24/7."

"Oh, Dante, how I wish I was."

"How sad," Dante replied sarcastically. "What can I get for you?"

Vanitas, pulling the wad of cash from his coat pocket as well, smoothly slipped a new cigarette out, along with the lighter. Before he spoke, he made sure to light it, and take the first drag, exhaling in relief. "The usual H, a gram of coke, and… what else do you have?"

"Hm… more Xanax?"

"No," Vanitas shook his head, unimpressed. With a sigh, he pulled the cigarette away from his lips, tapping the ash off onto the ground. "I still have some of that. It's useless."

"Vani, when're you gonna settle?" Dante question, pulling out the substances he'd asked for before. "Is there anything that gets you high?"

"Oh, I'm counting on it," Vanitas grinned, deviously. "How about LSD?"

"I don't have any on me, but I can get it for tonight, I suppose…"

"Good. The towns are swarming with sluts on Saturday nights, and I'll be gone from that other guy's long before then." Another drag. "Crack? Ecstasy?"

Wordlessly, Dante nodded, pulling both items from his pockets. "Is that all?"

"Hm, it'll work until tonight," Vanitas said, somewhat disappointedly. Puffing on the cigarette again, he handed Dante the cash, in exchange for the handful of drugs and paraphernalia. "Keep the change."

"Give me a shout when you need me tonight." Dante watched as Vanitas wandered over to the dumpster at the side of the street, placing everything into his pocket. Except the cocaine, that is, which was subsequently arranged into two lines with such precision so that they were each exactly the same length. Rolling up a 20, Vanitas pointedly leaned over the dumpster, and snorted both of the lines of drugs in one breath.

For a moment, he paused, his pupils visibly dilating as he threw the cigarette onto the floor and took two steps back. He waited for the high, but virtually nothing came.

Nothing but numbness, and slight relief that he'd sorted out that fix as well.

"So, uh, in case you didn't hear me, I said-"

"Give you a shout," Vanitas interrupted, cutting him off with a dismissive wave of the hand. "Yes, yes. I heard you."

Dante sighed, scanned him up and down, and then threw away the cigarette. "So I'll see you tonight. Unless you decide to stay with that _other_ guy and get clean, or some shit.

"Oh _please_ ," Vanitas snorted in derision. "I'm too far gone for that. I'm… more addicted to the lifestyle, anyway. _That_ , is something I couldn't stop."

* * *

As predicted, Vanitas was back within an hour, clambering back into the window, his perception of things still partially twisted. He was sure he'd left the door locked, but the very cross-looking Noé standing with arms folded over suggested maybe he hadn't.

Oh well. He was too out-of-it to care.

"Where did you go?" he interrogated, staring at him quizzically. In his eyes, Vanitas had no reason to leave. Well, that's what he wanted to think; there was a few suspicions but Noé tried to mentally dismiss them.

"I needed to get something," Vanitas said, throwing his coat onto the bed and glancing around briefly. "So… when do you want me gone?"

"Oh, please! S-Stay as long as you need!" Noé said in panic, erratically waving his hands at the other. "Do you need more food?"

"No thanks…" Vanitas seemed a little put-off. Briskly, his gaze landed on his coat. "But, can I use your shower?"

"Of course!" Noé tried to shut himself up. "I'll… make tea."

Wordlessly, Vanitas nodded, grabbing his things before proceeding to the bathroom.

Once he was in there, almost immediately, he commenced the ritualistic routine of getting that oh-so-needed fix. His fingers shook eagerly as he reached for the newly-bought heroin, shaking precisely enough of the drug into the spoon. The water was next, half-dissolving the powder. With the end of the syringe, he stirred the mixture for a bit, and then picked up the lighter.

The moment he flicked on the flame, the door _clicked._

 _Shit._

Like a deer caught in the headlights, Vanitas shamefacedly turned his gaze up towards the intruder.

"You…" Noé tried to speak, but the words just got caught in his throat. "Vanitas, this… you _… what_?"

Unfortunately for him, it took Vanitas more time to register the situation than Noé. He was totally frozen, muscles unwilling to move despite the voice of the demon in his head screaming at him to just _take the damn drug._

Noé, now fully conscious of what he'd walked in on, acted abruptly, and on impulse, leaning down and swiping the drugs from Vanitas' hand in one brisk movement.

Only then did Vanitas respond, and he did so with burning anger in his eyes. "What the _hell_ do you think you're doing?! G-Give that back!"

"Change of plan, you're not going _anywhere_ today!" Noé said firmly in response. With enough force to break the plastic (and so it did) he threw the syringe into the metal bin, the other's gaze following it like his life depended on it.

Well, in a way, it did.

"You have no _right_ to take that!" Vanitas snarled, and Noé swore he had never seen such a bitter expression on this man's face. Not that he'd known him for longer than 24 hours or anything. "If you're gonna prance around here doing whatever the hell you want, I'm leaving! You might've given me pity, but I have absolutely _no_ reason to be here right now!"

Noé dutifully captured his wrist. "If you set foot out of this house, I will call the police and tell them you had drugs in my house! And _they_ will take no pity on you! They'll just… ship you off to rehab! If you don't want sympathy – or whatever you want to call it – then leave! The police will happily take you!"

Vanitas, aggressively yanking his wrist from Noé's grip, snarled. However, he didn't leave. Noé was persistent; that was obvious. Right now, he had little choice for what to do. There was no point in leaving. Vanitas wasn't cut out for rehab, nor was he ready for that.

"Show me your bag," Noé demanded, folded his arms over.

" _Fine_ ," Vanitas spat. Sulkily, he led the other out of the bathroom, returning to the guest room. He felt like a scolded child, really. Yes, a child going through drug withdrawal. His hands were already shaking, between his crossed arms and shielded façade.

Without uttering a word, not wanting to exacerbate what was already a painfully difficult situation, Vanitas began emptying his bag. Sure enough, there was the heroin from this morning, as well as the cocaine, crack, and whatever else Dante felt like him supplying him with. All Vanitas saw was a load of sorry attempts to get high, but he was sure Noé perceived it quite differently.

"Tell me, Vanitas…" Noé said, breaking the silence. "Do you… really want to be doing this?"

Vanitas thought about it for a few seconds, before sighing, and slowly beginning to replace the contents back to their original places. "No… but, I'm not really to detox."

"Tough shit," Noé countered. "You're detoxing. Right here and now."

"T-That's-! No, no! You do not get to make that decision for _me_!" He slammed the bag down onto the floor, and then began to approach Noé confrontationally. "I don't even need to be here right now! If you hold me hostage here, I swear to god Noé, you will regret it!" He wasn't done, arms flailing around erratically as if that would somehow reinstate his point. "What do you even get for this?!"

"How old are you?"

" _Huh_?"

"I _said_ , how old are you?" Noé reiterated. "It's a simple question. Or… are you too high to comprehend it?"

Vanitas snarled at him, folding his arms over to hold still his trembling hands and turning his back to Noé. "21."

The reluctance to admit his age told Noé exactly what he needed to know. "I am not letting you back onto the streets for you to whore yourself away. Even _you_ know you're better than that-"

"Don't pretend you understand me!" Vanitas yelled back, clenching his fists as his anger boiled up even further. _Just who the hell is this guy?!_ "Fuck, _yes,_ ok, I do want to get clean. If I could! And you're not ready to see the crap I'll go through just by stopping… everything! What the hell do you even _get_ for this?"

That pissed Noé off. Fists unclenching, he closed the admittedly small gap between them, his fingers curling around the collar of Vanitas' shirt. "Don't assume I want something from _you_! My payment is _your_ suffering, and that is _it_!"

After throwing Noé off of him, Vanitas changed. It was subtle, but the blatant hate and contempt for the other seemed to dissipate. Then, the blunt look of disgust across his features morphed into a smug, almost patronising grin.

Then, in an equally mocking tone but with a sharp edge of bitterness still present, he spoke. "You really are a strange one, Noé." He paused, glancing down at his bag before a twisted grin tugged at his lips. "Alright, I'll play your little game then. I'll stay. And I'll show you everything you fucking did wrong with inviting a drug addict into your home and making them detox."

Noé met the threat with an equally patronising smirk. "Go ahead. I'm not scared of you, Vanitas."

"You should be, my dear Noé," Vanitas said, decorating his next comment with inherently obvious sarcasm. "My first goal will be to ruin each one of these _gorgeous_ carpets of yours."

When presented with the awkward silence following that heated ordeal, neither of them knew what to do, or how to react.

"So…" Noé started, discreetly scratching his nose. "What… happens now?"

"I need a fucking cigarette, that's what happens." Back to Noé, Vanitas proceeded to his bag, the contents already emptied all over the floor.

As expected, neither of them spoke to each other for the next few minutes, as Vanitas stormed off the Noé's garden without a second glance, and Noé carefully and precisely made sure to remove and destroy every last trace of narcotic from his house.

Once that was done, he met Vanitas and his aura of condemnation in his garden, slumped across the bench with a cigarette burning away between two fingers, dangling off the bench. He wasn't quite there, his gaze seemingly stolen by the clouds floating across the sky. Noé didn't know he was mid-way through a cocaine high.

 _"_ _High"_

Sure.

"What have you taken in the past week?" he asked.

Vanitas, dazed beyond belief, slowly rolled his eyes across the sky, downwards, and eventually landed them on Noé. "Ah, my dear Noé. Wouldn't you like to know?"

"I would, actually," Noé replied promptly.

"Alright then," Vanitas halted their conversation to take an excessively long drag on the cigarette. "Heroin and cocaine, as usual. And then… weed, Xanax, ecstasy, GHB, some crack, a little bit of speed, and then… probably Valium, at some point. Just to help me sleep."

Noé couldn't stop the expression of pure cluelessness from settling on his face.

"See? You have no idea what you're in for," Vanitas taunted, flicking the cigarette into the bushes somewhere. Then, as if to swap roles, as revenge for earlier, he shoved Noé back against the wall, his head hitting bricks with an audible _smack_. "But anyway, I'm going back up to where you've got me hostage, and I'll let you in on something, Noé." His voice was reduced to a whisper. A threatening whisper, at that. "I'm high as _fuck_ right now, for once, and… don't appal me when I'm high."

The other fell silent immediately, staying pinned against the wall.

Meanwhile, with a proud smirk donning his lips, Vanitas did as he said he would, staggering up the stairs. As he did that, he simultaneously slipped his phone out of his back pocket. Dante might as well know why he'll be out of town.

 ** _[To Dante, 10:17]  
_** _hold off the next order_

 ** _[To Dante, 10:17]  
_** _im getting clean_

It took less than a minute for him to get a response.

 ** _[From Dante, 10:18]  
_** _No way?! How high are you right now Vani?_

 ** _[To Dante, 10:18]  
_** _not nearly high enough, my friend_

 ** _[From Dante, 10:18]  
_** _You're fucked_

Words of a true, honest blessing, Vanitas noted, typing out his reply.

 ** _[To Dante, 10:18]  
_** _not as fucked as the guy who took me in_

 ** _[To Dante, 10:19]  
_** _he's got no clue what he's in for_


	3. Chapter 3: Recovery

_**(A/Ns: i did exactly as i'd said, despite the fact im away right now :D this has been ready since Tuesday hehe. Sorry if they're a little OOC, this is my first time fully writing drug withdrawal. Anyway, ch 4 should be up on August 10th. this writing challenge has killed me ajfhskjfhkg.**_

 _ **Content warnings: drug abuse, graphic depictions of self-harm, references to suicide, drug withdrawal, swearing, smoking, vomiting, omorashi (very light, not graphic at all, but i thought i'd tag it correctly anyway :p). No, it's not a happy chapter. At all..**_

 _ **Disclaimer: i do not own Vanitas no Carte)**_

* * *

 _Chapter 3: Recovery_

"Domi, I promise: I do _not_ have a crush on him!"

It had just passed 3pm, and Noé hadn't heard anything from Vanitas upstairs. He considered checking on him, since the withdrawal was sure to start soon, but there was no way he couldn't _not_ tell Domi – his best friend – about this first.

Domi and Noé had only met three years ago. It'd happened, funnily enough, at an LGBT bar. Noé, being himself, had stumbled upon Domi and her girlfriend, and had offered them a lift home, and it had pretty much gone from there. And now, Domi knew about every single little and insignificant event which happened in Noé's life. So, really, it hadn't been much of a surprise that, when confronted with a drug addict to help detox, Noé's instinct was to tell Domi all about it.

And she was more than willing to lend an ear.

 _Noé_ , _darling. Why else would you let him into your house?"_

"Because I cared, that's why!" Noé tried to reason with her, but after replaying it back in his head, he realised it just sounded cringey, rather than him actually trying to help. "I appreciate the concern, but-"

 _How old is he?"_

"Uh, 21…" Noé answered reluctantly, knowing full-well that Domi would use that against him somehow.

 _Ah, your boy-toy then~"_ She gave a condescending snicker. _"Noé, you're too innocent to have someone like that wandering around your house. How does he get money? By whoring himself off?"_

"E-Er, that would be a… um, a yes."

 _Knew it."_

"Domi, that means nothing," Noé scolded. "He needs help. That's all."

* * *

 _Is he… talking about me?_

After retreating to upstairs earlier, Vanitas had done nothing except lie sprawled out on the bed, gazing up at the ceiling in a daze. Eventually, as the high began to wear off, the comedown hit him like a sack of bricks, and he fell asleep.

It would've been convenient to blame his awakening on Noé's (excessively loud) phone call downstairs, but the truth was, Vanitas had woken up long before that. His hands were shaking, much more than they had yesterday, and every few minutes he was assaulted by waves of nausea.

It was the cocaine comedown, he told himself. Desperately, he tried to avoid remembering that it had been 12 hours now since his last fix, the time having just passed 3pm. Withdrawal hadn't started yet, he told himself.

The unsettling feeling in the pit in his stomach begged to differ.

Vanitas sighed, his eyes falling shut again as he laid an arm across his face. His breathing was shallow, and uneven.

Perhaps he wasn't ready to detox.

Why had he even agreed to do it? Because Noé had him wrapped around his finger, whether he meant for it to seem like that or not. Oh, and he'd been high. Very high.

His anxiety was beginning to get a hold of the better of him. A thin layer of sweat coated his skin, in raw contrast to the scratchy feeling in his throat.

Water. Water was what he needed, but he was dead-certain the churning in his stomach would reject it.

Tentatively, he swung his legs over the edge of the bed. Legs weak and muscles flaccid, Vanitas, keeping one hand buried in his hair, staggered towards the bathroom, the other hand wrapped around his stomach.

* * *

"Domi, please listen to me…" Noé sighed one last time, glancing upwards at the footsteps creaking the floor above him. "Look, I have to go, but-"

 _But you'll call me if you change your mind?"_

"Yes, I- I mean no! No!" Noé cut himself off; too late, at that. _Son of a bitch._ "No, Domi! I-I don't have a crush on Vanitas, for the last time!"

" _Aaaalright, bye my dear~"_

Noé facepalmed, pulling the phone away from his ear and dropping onto the sofa behind him with an exaggerated sigh.

Then, he heard the bathroom door slam shut from upstairs.

 _Maybe I should… leave him be for a little bit…_

Taking advantage of the last few moments of peace he may have for the next week or so, Noé pulled open his phone again, loading the search engine. It'd just occurred to him that he had absolutely no prior knowledge of drugs, or drug withdrawal. Sure, he'd heard some stuff – everyone had heard something at one point or another – but what about the timescale? The symptoms? The factors involved?

Really, it had only just clicked with him that he had no idea what to expect. Before, he'd acted on impulse; he'd just been pretending to know what the hell he was even doing. Noé facepalmed, drawing in a deep breath with the faith that they could push through this. And then… after it was done…

They could cross that bridge when they came to it. _If_ they came to it.

Noé went onto the first website he found.

 _Heroin withdrawal symptoms may only last a week or so, but the symptoms can be severe and include:_

· _Nausea/vomiting_

· _Abdominal pain_

· _Diarrhoea_

· _Sweating_

· _Shaking_

· _Nervousness_

· _Agitation_

· _Depression_

· _Muscle spasms_

· _Cravings for drugs_

· _Relapse_

Hopefully, they wouldn't be as severe as _that_. Shallow hope, of course. Vanitas was far too deep into this to get away lightly, and both him and Noé knew that. Anything from this point on wasn't hope – it was more like denial.

To make matters worse, it had probably already started. The urgency of the door slamming shut was still a sound too fresh in Noé's audio memory. His concern got the better of him, and – barely familiarised on the situation – Noé decided to go and check on him.

Before he even reached the top of the stairs, all he could hear reverberating from the bathroom was the most violent, painful retching he'd ever heard – spare the time Domi got food poisoning.

"Vanitas?" he called, receiving no response at first, which only boosted his worry. Striding towards the bathroom a little faster, Noé tried calling again, knocking on the door as well. "Vanitas? Do you… need something?"

Silence first, and then a verbal reply. "No… fuck o-"

Unable to finish the word he ended on, Vanitas was brusquely cut off by another gag. That was when Noé decided to go against what he'd rather explicitly asked for, and opened the lock with the set of keys permanently kept in his room.

Sure enough, the second he opened the door, there was a gentle but aggressive-natured kick at the door. It was to no avail, and after a brief, weak glare, Vanitas turned his head and attention back to the toilet bowl, continuing to empty his stomach into it.

Noé, arms folded over, simply waited at the door until he was finished.

"I said… fuck _off_ …" Vanitas panted, closing his eyes for a few moments before collapsing against the bath tub. "It's not… the withdrawal yet. Just… comedown."

"Really?" Noé cocked an eyebrow. "Do you need water, or… something?"

"I don't need your help," Vanitas spat. "Piss off."

"No. I said I'd help you through this, and I-I'm… I'm sticking to my word!"

"Good luck, my dear Noé. This is only the start of it," he said sarcastically. "Fuck, I need a cigarette…"

With one hand held over his stomach, Vanitas froze, and grimaced, leaning forward again with his head dangling over the toilet. And a moment later, he gagged, bringing up only water mixed with bile.

After a minute, he was finished, blindly groping for the toilet paper.

"Are you… done yet?" Noé asked hesitantly.

"Not… I'm not sure…" Vanitas stuttered, wiping his mouth limply. He could feel himself shaking horribly, like a mixture of coldness and crippling anxiety over nothing.

"I'll… go and get some blankets…" Noé said, after pouring a glass of water and placing it conveniently on the floor beside where Vanitas was crouched.

Just a minute later, Noé returned, with a pile of blankets in his arms, all a variety of colours. When he opened the door, Vanitas was no longer sprawled across the bathroom, but was stood in front of the mirror instead. Cold water dripping down his face, he turned his bloodshot eyes towards Noé, and deadpanned, "Never mind what I said. This is the heroin."

Wordlessly, his hands clasping at sink, Vanitas staggered out of the bathroom, grabbing one of the multi-coloured blankets from Noé's hands and flinging it around him. After brusquely picking up the cigarettes from his room, Vanitas made his way down the stairs, stumbling over each step and eventually making it to the bottom. As he walked towards the exit, leaning dependently on the kitchen counters, he easily slipped a cigarette from the pack, leaving the rest of the pack on the table. Then, sticking the cigarette between his teeth, he fiddled with the lock for a few moments, before setting eyes on the keys on the other counter and successfully opening it.

His hands trembled as he brought the lighter up to the cigarette, dropping onto the bench and trying to hold the flame up to the tip. It took a few seconds – at least 20 – but he succeeded, inhaling desperately and waiting for the nicotine to flood his thoughts and calm him down, just marginally.

About a minute later, Noé arrived, poking his head through the sliding door and staring at the other. Then, he spoke. "Do you want, erm… something to eat?"

Vanitas frowned, but didn't avert his gaze from straight ahead of him, avoiding eye contact. "I'm fucking freezing."

"That, er, wasn't my question…"

"Yeah, well it was my answer," Vanitas snapped. "No, I don't want food, Noé. I want heroin."

"Apologies, that's not on the menu," Noé replied tactfully, biting back the smirk which started to tug at his lips at his own comment. "You need to eat."

"I won't keep it down, but sure. Go ahead."

Noé nodded, and spun on his heel.

Meanwhile, Vanitas simply dropped his head, screwing his eyes shut to will away the pounding headache now residing in his head, ready to develop into a full-on migraine. One finger trailing over his barely exposed arms, he could physically feel the goose bumps, along with his intense shaking. He'd been through withdrawal before, but not intentionally.

Not when the thought that he'd never get high again was at the forefront of his mind.

But, of _course_ he'd get high again. This wasn't permanent. This wouldn't last forever. He just had to get through this, and…

Convince Noé that he was better. And then he'd leave, and instantly revert to his previous lifestyle: sex and drugs.

The cigarette continued burning away between his fingers, but he didn't smoke it. Eventually, it was burnt away, and Vanitas brought it up to his lips one more time to suck the life out of it before snuffing it out in the ashtray.

One craving down, two to go.

Despite the thin layer of sweat coating his body, he shivered relentlessly. His skin felt like it was being pricked by ice. His muscles felt strained. Every system in his body just seemed to be shutting down within him, but Vanitas knew this wasn't even the start; it hadn't even been 24 hours since the last hit.

Reluctantly, he peeled himself off the bench, immediately grabbing the back of it as he pulled open the door.

"Here," Noé offered the moment he stepped past the threshold into his kitchen, extending a blanket to him. Vanitas, internally grateful, snatched it out of his grip, wrapping himself in a cocoon of blankets. "I didn't know what to make you that would sit well in your stomach, so… I went with soup."

"Sure," Vanitas grunted, hissing silently as he lifted one leg up to chest. The searing pain in his lower back was only exacerbated by the absence of the drugs coursing through his veins. It was more noticeable, more prominent, more…

Painful. You could even say agony, but that wouldn't be until he reached 72 hours.

Vanitas, stomach still unsettled and churning, was only able to eat half of the soup, which was – admittedly – better than Noé had anticipated. Once he'd finished eating, without saying a word, Vanitas shoved the bowl backwards, grimacing at the feeling of the warm liquid filtering into his stomach. He traipsed towards the door, one hand using whatever furniture was nearby to haul himself along the corridor and up the stairs and into his room.

Exhaustedly, he collapsed onto the bed, curling up into a tiny, shaking ball of blankets and trying to bite back the nausea.

Sure enough, Noé followed him up there. "Vanitas? Do you need anything?"

"Quit asking me that!" Vanitas said bitterly, and then added more calmly: "A bucket. My stupid legs won't get me to the bathroom for next time."

"O-Of course," Noé responded as if it were obvious, hurrying down the stairs and returning less than a minute later with said item. Tentatively, he placed it on the bedside table, turning away from Vanitas as soon as he could.

It was inherently obvious that Vanitas wasn't really ready to detox, but he'd pushed him far enough to turn back. Noé knew he had to push through with Vanitas.

"You can piss off now," Vanitas groaned, one hand snaking around to his stomach. "I'll scream if I need something."

"Um, alright…" Noé said, and then left him, only partially confident he'd even call for help.

* * *

As expected, Noé hadn't heard a single thing from Vanitas since leaving him earlier. In that time, he'd cleaned the bathroom, hoovered the entirety of downstairs, and cooked, prepared and eaten his own dinner. He did consider making something for Vanitas, but given the rather uncomfortable encounters he'd witnessed between Vanitas and food, Noé decided to give that one a miss.

It had just passed 7pm, meaning it'd been nearly 4 hours since he'd even seen him. A check up was probably in need.

Hesitantly, Noé knocked on the bedroom door. There was a low groan from the other room, and that was the only response.

 _Very responsive, then…_ Noé thought sarcastically to himself. Then, with that thought fresh in his mind, he slowly pushed the door open, scanning the room for Vanitas.

Initially, he didn't even find him, given that the bed and all its blankets had been abandoned. However, after a few more seconds of searching, it became evident where Vanitas had moved to – still wrapped in blankets and sheets and curled around the bucket, of course.

The… floor?

"The bed was too hot," Vanitas panted in response to the question Noé hadn't even asked. Yet. It was evident that what he'd said was true as well, given the layer of sweat coating his skin and expanding through his clothes, and leaving marks on the laminated wooden floor. To say he was drenched in sweat would be an understatement.

As if speaking was too much effort, a second later, he sat up abruptly, grabbed the bucket, and threw up again. Noé grimaced at every sickening retch, taking a subconscious step back away from the other and waiting politely until he was done.

"Fuck…" Vanitas spat, collapsing back onto the floor. He hissed, his back slamming against the floorboards with an audible _crunch_. His entire body was convulsing, and despite how hot he felt, he still shivered relentlessly, unable to unwrap himself from more than 2 blankets at once.

"Is there anything you need?" Noé offered, unsure of what else he could do.

Vanitas' expression held the same disdain as always. "Half a gram of heroin and a couple lines of coke would be nice, but considering you'll probably say _'no'_ to that, I'll stick with water."

"I'll… get that in a moment, but can I… ask first: Vanitas, what drugs are you _actually_ , you know… _addicted_ to?"

Bitterly, Vanitas shot him a look which promptly said _'you fucking idiot, No_ é'however, answered the question nonetheless. "Heroin, cigarettes, of course, and… yeah, cocaine too." He paused, grabbing his stomach and curling his legs even tighter into his chest, hissing at the searing pain in his head and back; Noé didn't even know the body could achieve that position naturally. "Everything else is just… ngh… recreational."

Noé desperately wanted to ask him so many questions. How long? What led him down this path? Where were his parents in all of this?

But he didn't, biting his tongue and reverting his attention to _now._ "At least get back onto the bed. It can't be comfortable down there."

For the first time since he'd started the detox, the devious grin from their first encounter began to tug at Vanitas' lips. "My dear Noé, wouldn't _you_ like to know about down _there_?"

As expected, Noé didn't pick up on what he was insinuating. "Pardon?"

"Never mind," Vanitas' smile was short-lived. "I thought you were getting me water."

"Ah, of course!" Noé said, hurrying out of the room and downstairs.

Meanwhile, with an exasperated sigh, Vanitas was just about able to peel himself off the floor, and slide over to the bed. Movement only intensified the constant aching in his muscles, but eventually, he pulled himself up onto the bed, leaving a puddle of sweat where he rolled over and burying his face into one of the pillows.

He glanced down, and saw shaking hands. And the innumerable puncture marks on his arms were just a painful reminder of what he was missing out on right now.

It seemed so easy to end the suffering, and yet, he was so, so far from it.

Before he'd realised it, Noé returned, perching on the side of the bed and handing him a bottle of water, just opened. "Here. You need to drink."

Reluctantly, Vanitas snatched the plastic bottle from his grip, his trembling hands barely lifting it to his lips. A few sips was enough; he'd just start feeling sick after that.

"How's your stomach?"

"Fucking awful."

"Do you want to watch something?" Noé gestured to the TV on the wall.

Vanitas' fingers twitched for a cigarette, but he shrugged anyway. "Can't hurt to try."

Noé, nodding, picked up the remote, switching on the television and flicking through the channels. "Horror film?"

"No," Vanitas shut him down instantly. "Find one of those… ironic comedies. Watching some random fuckers fall into a series of unfortunate events might prove cathartic."

Fairly certain he knew what was being asked for, Noé opened Netflix, flicking through the films until he selected one; "The Hangover."

"Fucking great…" Vanitas muttered, hugging the bucket tighter. "Stay here."

"What?"

"Stay with me," Vanitas demanded, smirking. "What, don't tell me you've had enough of the homeless drug addict withdrawing _already_?"

Noé managed to crack a grin at that remark. "Not a chance."

* * *

Somehow, as if some miracle had befallen them, Vanitas and Noé managed to get through the entirety of the film within incident. That was, of course, not including the two times Vanitas threw up, but twice in 2 hours must have been a record for him.

Admittedly, towards the end, Vanitas had gotten slightly restless, jostling his leg every few seconds. Then, he began nodding off, curled up around a pillow. Noé's thigh had also become part of his pillow.

Vanitas had seemed totally disinterested and disengaged, though.

"What's the time?" he asked drowsily, gripping his stomach with one hand and burying his face in his sleeve.

"It's… just gone 9pm," Noé said. "Are you… alright? You… keep moving your leg, that's all."

Hazily, Vanitas glanced up at him with a slightly annoyed expression. Then, sheepishly, he confessed, "I really need to pee but I'm too tired to get up."

"Oh! Y-You should've said… I'll help you to the toilet."

Needing to pee was a good thing, right? At least it meant he wasn't totally dehydrated.

However, the moment Vanitas shifted even slightly, with Noé's hand on his shoulder, he froze. Blindly, he groped around for the bucket behind him, retracting his hand from Noé's and plastering it over his mouth. Then, as he hung his head over the receptacle, he retched, emptying his stomach. It was mostly water and bile at this point, and some stomach acid too.

At one point, when he went to retch, his entire body lurched forward. Vanitas' eyes widened, as one hand abruptly moved from where he was trying to keep himself upright and flew to his pants. He swatted Noé's hand away, and choked on his own gag.

Then, Noé saw it: the wet patch slowly expanding from Vanitas' crotch.

"Vanitas…" he sighed. An overwhelming feeling of sympathy washed over him, as he watched Vanitas' control over his body slowly deteriorate. "I'll… get some towels, and… more clothes."

Vanitas, still hunched over the bucket, couldn't do anything in response. His entire body ached, and the only thing he was capable of was sitting there frozen, with tears uncontrollably falling from his eyes, down his face and onto the sheets.

Gritting his teeth together, he eventually managed to peel himself off the bed, falling straight onto the floor. When his back smashed onto the hard-wooden floorboards, Vanitas could've sworn he heard a crack.

Wordlessly, once he returned with a pile of clothes and towels, Noé stripped the bed of its sheets. Then, he cautiously approached Vanitas, curled up into his usually shielded ball but on the floor. He appeared to be shivering visibly; Noé took it upon himself to drape a towel over his frail form, and push the new clothes further towards him.

"I'll… put new sheets on the bed in a moment. If you give me your clothes I'll put them in the wash now."

"I just want to sleep…" Vanitas sobbed to himself, his words muffled by the towel and almost indecipherable. Even quieter, he added, "And… be high."

"I know you do," Noé said softly, but sternly. "This'll be over soon, Vanitas. I promise."

They both knew he was lying.

* * *

Those were the last words spoken by either of them the previous night.

Sunday morning came along faster than Noé had expected, and to no surprise, upon awakening at 7am, the first thing he did was go and check on Vanitas.

As with the day before, Vanitas was on the floor; he probably hadn't moved from there after changing. The only thing difference was the mountain of sheets and blankets covering his shaking form. His greasy, dishevelled hair was poking out of the top of the mound just marginally.

On top of this, his face was effectively buried in the bucket, as if he thought he would vomit with every breath. His breathing was shallow, tear stains streaking down his cheeks.

"Stop staring at me," Vanitas hissed at him. He glanced up at the other, just enough for him to see the dilated pupils and sweat covering his forehead. "What do you want?"

Noé hadn't realised he was staring. Not that it was much of a surprise.

"How are you feeling?" he asked, trying not to let his worry be evident in his tone as he spoke.

"Worse," Vanitas said blatantly. "My stomach… urgh… really fucking hurts, and my head, and… everything."

"Well…" Noé desperately ran through the options to offer him in his head. "Do you want another bath, or…?"

"Yes," Vanitas answered.

 _Well that's… good, I guess…_ Noé thought, involuntarily wrinkling his nose at the pungent smell which had gradually polluted his guest room. The smell of sweat, vomit, and stale tobacco and weed, to be specific.

Hastily, he spun on his heel and left the room, using the bathroom himself before turning on the taps.

When he returned to the guest room, Vanitas had surprisingly managed to get up – just about – to the bed without throwing up. His state wasn't exactly better, mind you. One hand, shaking unfathomably worse than yesterday, was buried in his hair, covering his eyes from which he was visibly crying.

"Vanitas…?"

"It's not…" he sniffed, barely able to speak through the hysteria. "… not the heroin… it's the cocaine… that does this to me."

"O-Ok…"

"Don't try to fix it," Vanitas spat, rolling off the bed leaning on every object in site – including Noé – on his journey to the bathroom. "Can you make some food? I'm fucking starving."

Noé tilted his head at him questioningly. "Are you… sure you'll keep it down?"

"Don't know, don't care," Vanitas answered, kicking the bathroom door open and slamming it shut behind him.

The second the door slammed shut, his emotional walls broke. Muscles frustratingly limp, he slid down onto the floor with his back against the wall, burying his face in his hands.

He hated being seen like this. He hated feeling the way he did. He hated himself for getting himself in this situation.

The bath was almost overflowing.

With agonising pain in every part of his body, Vanitas lifted himself off the floor and turned off the taps. His mind flashed back to a couple of days ago, when he'd gotten in the bath high. When he'd _been high_.

He desperately missed that feeling. Desperately missed the alleviation of all the burdens which rested upon him with a quick shot or snort or smoke. That floaty feeling, like there was nothing better than that in the entire world.

Tears still falling down his face, Vanitas peeled off the oversized clothes given to him by Noé – already drenched – and dropped them onto the floor beside him.

Despite steam visibly rising from the water, he was still shivering, goose bumps appearing all over his body. He sniffed, lifting his shaking hands out of the water again.

And he felt nothing except numbness.

Eyes screwing shit, Vanitas trailed a finger over his wrists. Over the track marks going all up his forearm to his elbow. At around his elbow, there were less.

Instead, his arms were scarred with multiple cuts; self-inflicted slashes to the wrists. From times like this, you could say. From the times where being high just hadn't worked.

Subconsciously, his line of vision lifted from his wrists to Noé's razor, tucked away at the side of the bathtub.

There was nothing to lose at this point, really.

With eagerly trembling fingers, Vanitas attempted to wipe some of the tears from his eyes. Then, he grabbed the shaving razor, and broke the plastic open in one move; he might not have done this in a while, but old habits die hard, and breaking razors was something he'd become highly accustomed to.

Hesitation was not needed. Taking a deep breath, Vanitas dragged the sharp edge of the razor along his wrists twice, deep enough to draw blood but shallow enough not to inflict any serious physical damage. Beads of blood formed at the wound, before trickling down his pale skin and dropping into the water.

It would be so easy to end it all right now.

But for some reason – albeit very faintly – Noé's words did not stop ringing throughout his head.

Maybe there was a reason to believe he would be okay.

Right now, however, that didn't matter. With one hand gripping the edge of the tub, Vanitas lifted himself out of the water. It was too cold to stay there. It felt like something was crawling in his skin, and the water constantly touching his arms and legs and stomach really, really wasn't helping.

After getting dress again, the tips of his hair just damp and only slightly irritating, he staggered downstairs, driven by the smell of… pancakes? And for once, smelling food _didn't_ make him want to puke.

"I didn't know what to make you," Noé said the moment Vanitas stepped into the room.

"It's fine," Vanitas muttered, dropping into the closest seat of his dining table and laying his head in his arms. He pulled a sleeve over his wrist discreetly, hiding the evidence of how his bath had gone.

"You weren't up there for very long," Noé noticed. "Is… everything okay?"

"As good as it'll ever be," Vanitas replied wryly.

Silence befell them for the last few minutes of Noé cooking. Then, he brought two plates over to the table, each with three pancakes piled on top of one another and topped of with fruit.

Vanitas didn't meet eyes with Noé when he started eating. His taste buds were destroyed (though that was most likely the cigarettes than the drug themselves), his stomach was rolling around sickeningly, but the repulsive feeling he usually experienced when eating seemed to have just… gone.

"Thanks for the meal," he said, barely producing words as he dropped the fork onto the near-empty plate.

Just then, he felt his stomach cramp.

Perhaps he had been naïve to think things would have actually gotten better on the second day.

"I'm gonna go lie down…" Vanitas grimaced, holding his stomach tightly. He knew this would happen.

Before he even made it to the bedroom, his stomach cramped again, a twisting sensation in his lower regions acting as a warning sign. His grip tightening on his stomach, Vanitas turned towards the bathroom and slammed the door shut.

It was messy, and disgusting, and nauseating. It was like his body was violently rejecting every attempt to make itself better.

Then, dizziness overcame him. Dehydration, presumably. He wanted to throw up again.

Really, he was an idiot for thinking he was – in _any_ way – improving.

* * *

Noé hadn't seen Vanitas since breakfast that morning.

After hearing the bathroom door slam shut, he'd tried to offer him help, but had quickly been told to, quote, "piss off". At some point in the next two hours, Vanitas had emerged, and proceeded to lock himself in the guest room.

Part of Noé wanted to check on him. And make sure he hadn't relapse. But all traces of drugs had been eradicated from his home yesterday morning. Yes – only yesterday morning, when the confrontation and entire ordeal had gone down.

Was that where he made his mistake?

Regardless, as painful as it was to see, Vanitas slowly, ever-so _gradually_ getting better. Sure, the withdrawal was worsening, but as the drugs left his body, Vanitas slowly returned to his true self.

Of course, that might have been better if Noé hadn't discovered that Vanitas' true self was, in fact, arrogant.

At 5pm, after leaving him alone all day once again, and even going shopping at one point, Noé tried again. Tentatively, he knocked on the guest room door; it was still locked.

"What the fuck-" Vanitas' aggressive yelling was promptly cut off with a gag, and then a pained cry.

"Alright, I-I'm picking the lock now!" Noé declared much more confidently than he felt, as he stared down at the keys to every other room in the house.

Miraculously, however, it worked.

"I can hear you screaming from… downstairs…" Noé started, his words trailing off when Vanitas glared at him. The glare wasn't as sharp as he probably wanted it to be, though it still worked in shutting Noé up.

"My back is… hagh, _shit_ ," Vanitas cursed, curling up into an even tighter ball. Once again, he was curled around the bucket, his face resting on the rim of the receptacle. Nonetheless, the lingering smell of bleach which had previously hung over the room had somewhat lessened, implying he hadn't been properly sick in a while. "Can you please just-" Vanitas lost his sentence mid-way to a strained sob. "-get… half a gram. A-And then… I'll continue."

"No," Noé straight-up refused, and then softened his posture and tone. "You're doing well, Vanitas."

"Y-Yeah well… f-fuck you…" Vanitas snarled at him, trembling more and more with every word. "Y-You're lucky I haven't… shit on your floors y-yet… I feel like I'm fucking dying here."

Wordlessly, Noé approached the bed, perching on the edge beside Vanitas. And when Vanitas didn't even try to protest, he began dragging his fingers through his hair – his sweat-matted, vomit-smelling hair.

He didn't speak again until Vanitas' breathing finally slowed. "We'll get through this. _You_ will."

"F-Fuck you too…" Vanitas bit back.

"Trust me," Noé almost smiled. _Almost_. "I believe in you, Vanitas… you'll… you'll be okay."


	4. Chapter 4: Relapse

_**(A/Ns: august 10th came around fast, i only finished this yesterday whoops.**_

 _ **triggers: smoking, drug withdrawal, vomiting, swearing, refs to suicide, lots of crying and angst, like... a lot of it, overdosing. the usual basically.**_

 _ **please review if you can! :D**_

 _ **disclaimer: i do not own Vanitas no Carte)**_

* * *

 _Chapter 4: Relapse_

Somehow, as if a miracle had struck them – or he was just very, _very_ lucky – Noé made it to Monday morning without incident.

Of course, it could've just been Vanitas being silent. Maybe Noé had been right; would he even cry for help? Or would he try to keep up the façade of _"I don't need any help"_?

Okay, that one was dropped a long time.

Nevertheless, whatever the reason was for being so lifeless, it didn't concern Noé particularly much. Admittedly, he knew he was slightly naïve, but that didn't stop him from trusting Vanitas to ask for help. So, when he'd woken up at 6:30am to get ready for work, the last thing on his mental priority list was checking on Vanitas.

By the time he'd showered, gotten dressed, and had breakfast, it was coming up to 7:30am. At this point, it was probably just right to break the news to Vanitas that he was off to work soon, and yes – he'd called someone over to _'babysit',_ you could say.

The moment Noé opened the door even a crack, his sense of smell was assaulted by a foul air of sweat and vomit, and mould, almost. The state of Vanitas wasn't immediately obvious, a mound of blankets which violently shook being the only indication that he was even there.

 _At least he's on the bed rather than the floor…_ Noé thought briefly, slowly approaching said mound. Part of him felt slightly guilty for waking up Vanitas – he probably hadn't slept much – but the intensifying smell as he got closer implied another round of cleaning would be needed.

"Vanitas?" Noé tried, placing a hand on the trembling shoulder, protruding out of one of the blankets. He wrinkled his nose as Vanitas stirred, shifted, but didn't wake up. It was good he was sleeping and all, but Noé knew he'd get annoyed if he left him with…

Well, the person he'd called over.

"Vanitas," he tried again, slightly louder. "I need you to wake up."

"Ngh?" Vanitas muttered idly, tugging the sheets away from his eyes and opening his eyelids just a crack. The light sent a throbbing pain to his head in the form of an instant migraine, which was shortly followed by a searing pain surging from his neck to his lower back. "Fuck… you're here…"

"Um…" Noé started awkwardly, gesturing to somewhere around his lower regions. "Do you need more, um… more clothes to borrow again?"

Vanitas blinked at him, glanced under the sheets, and then knocked his head back against the headboard. "Fuck, yeah. Sorry."

"I-It's okay…" Noé stammered, trying so hard not to make it extremely awkward for the both of them. "Did you…?"

"Yeah, I shat myself, alright?" Vanitas snapped at him, his words harbouring a bitter edge, which made Noé instinctively take a step back. Slightly more ashamed, Vanitas added to his explanation, rolling over with a visible grimace to redirect his line of vision away from Noé. "I was so damn tired last night, alright? The dope-sick stage of withdrawal has just been replaced with pissing out my ass. I think I puked a little on your floor, as well."

 _Lovely._ Noé glanced down. "No, I… think you're safe. But… why didn't you just call for help?"

"I did," Vanitas spat, pulling his brows together. "You're a heavy sleeper. You didn't wake up."

"Oh…"

"Yeah, exactly. Now help me get out these sheets. I stink of shit."

 _That's… certainly true…_ Noé added mentally. "If you're able to stand up, can you just… roll the sheets up? I'll… go and get new clothes."

"Thanks," Vanitas murmured, barely audibly. Once Noé had left the room, obviously.

With what little energy he had left, he peeled the disgusting, soiled sheets away from his lower half, wrapping one of the blankets around himself and sitting back on the floor. His body trembled more than it had yesterday, and every move he made was accompanied by an overwhelming surge of nausea. Cold flashes struck him every other second, but despite that, his pulse was still racing, and sweat still poured out of him in layers, through the blankets, and onto the floor.

It was coming up to 72 hours, which was notoriously the worst stage.

His fingers itched for the heroin, but… he'd already gotten this far, right?

Sure enough, Noé was back in less than a minute, wordlessly handing him a pile of clothes (the same, oversized pyjamas from the first day) before proceeding to the sheets.

"Why are you up so early?" Vanitas asked, his tone sour. It was evident he already knew, which was most likely the reason for his bitterness.

"I… have to go to work," Noé sighed, pulling the detached sheets and blankets into a wad of fabric and hauling them into the wash basket in the bathroom. "But don't worry! I-I have a friend coming over, just to keep an eye on you…"

Vanitas scowled. "What, you don't trust me?"

"Oh no! Not at _all_!" Noé answered, much more cheerfully than he should've done. "She'll… leave you alone, I suspect."

As Noé continued rushing around the room, Vanitas redressed himself under the blanket, and then clambered back onto the bed. Locking eyes with the cigarette pack, he frowned, laying an arm over his sweat-glistened forehead to numb the ache. As if it would do anything.

"Do you need anything before I go?" Noé asked once he arrived back in the room, hastily doing his tie. "I've put your clothes in the wash. They… should be done in a couple of hours."

"I need a fucking cigarette," Vanitas said under his breath with an irascible _'huff'._

Noé glanced at him with an expression of sympathy. His body had totally disconnected from what he wanted it to do, the fatigue taking over any control he had over himself. Maybe he could just grant him this once…

"You can… smoke in here, if you want," Noé gave in, dragging a hand through his hair, already exhausted; it wasn't even 8am yet. "Just… please don't burn the sheets."

"Got it," Vanitas gave him a little nod, leaning over with great effort to grab the cigarettes. With shaking hands, he was just about capable of lighting up, the first drag burning in his throat, purely because the stomach acid he'd brought up so frequently had worn away at the lining of his oesophagus until it was raw.

A moment of silence later, and the doorbell sounded.

"Ah, that'll be-"

"My _babysitter,_ I know," Vanitas said patronisingly, laying a hand over his stomach.

Noé pretended not to hear that comment, and instead hurried down the stairs.

All Vanitas heard was a female voice, and Noé sounding very flustered, before his eavesdropping was halted by a gag. Hurriedly, he placed the cigarette on the side of a saucer left on the bedside table, and then leant over the bed and hung his head over the bucket.

He didn't throw up anything more than water mixed with bile at this point, but that didn't make it any less grim. Repulsive, even.

It was over soon, fortunately, Vanitas going straight for the cigarette to cleanse his taste buds – despite the fact it exacerbated the nausea. And soon after that, the footsteps began making their way up the stairs, along to corridor, and to his room.

"So, this is where you're keeping your little whore, hm~?" a female voice said, mockingly.

Vanitas already hated her.

"Domi, please play nice," Noé sighed, fully pushing open the door to the guest room.

The woman – Domi; Vanitas recognised her name from Noé's phone call yesterday – had long, black hair, tied back loosely into a high ponytail at the back, the rest of it draping past her shoulders. She wore heeled boots, tight black jeans, and a cream coloured blouse which hardly covered her cleavage. Finally, across her face was a wide grin – a patronising, teasing grin, to be precise.

"Um, Vanitas, this is Domi," Noé introduced, trying to tear Vanitas' disdainful glare from Domi, and Domi's contemptuous glare from Vanitas "Domi, this is… Vanitas. Please be nice."

"Aha~" she chuckled, leaning back against the door frame. With a sidelong glance locked on Vanitas, she dragged a finger down the side of Noé's face, before looking at him dead in the eye. "Noé, my dear. You're late. Leave him to me, alright?"

After one more pleading glance which frankly said _"please be nice"_ , Noé spun on his heel, and left, grabbing his coat. Then, both Vanitas and Domi heard the door slam shut, simultaneously returning the same glares to each other.

"I didn't know Noé let _scum_ in his house," she said, the smirk donning her lips widening to accompany the sadistic edge woven into her words. "So what's the _real_ reason Noé is doing this for you?"

"Beats me," Vanitas rolled his eyes. With a groan, his turned over onto the side to keep his head fixed over the bucket, the hand holding the cigarette daggling off the bed.

"He wouldn't want _you_ for sex," Domi pondered aloud, as she took exactly four steps into the room. "I wonder… what could be the reason?"

" _My payment is your suffering._ "

Domi blinked at him. "What?"

"That's what he said to me," Vanitas answered bluntly, sucking deeply on the cigarette.

"Hm." She tapped a finger to her lips, looking confused for a few moments, before sauntering over to Vanitas and plucking the cigarette from his fingers, her smile turning evil. Directing her bitterness at him, she pointedly snuffed the cigarette out in the saucer. Then, she made her way to the door, twirling her hair around with her right forefinger. "My girlfriend is coming over at 1pm. Don't bother me after that. Until then, I'll be downstairs."

"Alr- _ngh!"_ Vanitas couldn't prevent himself from crying out in pain, grabbing his stomach and clenching his fists. The cramps had reached their absolute worse. He hoped, at least.

"Shut up," Domi glared at him, furrowing her eyebrows together and shooting him a threatening glance.

"Tch… o-or what?" Vanitas stuttered, swallowing down the vomit trying to push its way up his throat and suppressing the urge to just scream out in total agony.

Wordlessly, the scowl on her face deepening, Domi walked over to him. With a scornful, disdainful look on her face, she leant down, and delivered a harsh, quick slap to his face.

 _Why the hell does she wear so many rings?!_ Vanitas screamed in his head, and mustered up every bit of self-control within him not to start crying, or show any signs of pain. He didn't even flinch.

That seemed to annoy her.

"I hope you've learnt your place, scum," Domi hissed at him, before turning on her heel and leaving without another word.

His stomach rolled around nauseatingly, a sick feeling stirring up once again in the pit of his stomach. It was difficult to ignore, but fortunately, the fatigue was more powerful at this moment in time, and before he knew it, Vanitas once again felt himself being pulled from the surface of consciousness.

Eventually, he drifted off into another comedown-induced sleep.

* * *

 _Tied up._

 _It hurts-_

 _They're…_

 _It hurts-_

 _…_ _taking my… clothes off…_

 _It hurts-_

 _It…_

 _It hurts-_

 _…_ _has to be done._

 _"_ _Mhm… keep at it, boy. Then you'll get the drugs."_

 _The drugs._

 _The syringe._

 _Yes, that's… why…_

 _Withdrawals aren't-_

 _It hurts-_

 _"_ _Vanitas? Did you overdose?"_

 _Is that…?_

 _It hurts-_

 _…_ _N-_

"Noé!"

Vanitas wasn't aware he'd said – screamed – that part out loud.

He wasn't aware of much that was around him, apart from the agonising, unbearable pain concentrated around his back, and his stomach, and his legs, and his head. It was the first time since the withdrawal started he'd had a nightmare, which was a surprise, really, but that didn't make it any better. The images which flashed by his mind in an instant were still fresh in his memories. The pain of everything was still-

The bucket. Where was the bucket?

Abruptly, Vanitas' thoughts and deep, heavy breaths were interrupted by a pained gag. He didn't even have enough time to swallow – all he was able to do was lean over the bed and allow his stomach to itself as well, hopefully into the bucket.

His hand, blindly groping around the bed beside his thighs for a place to stabilise himself from, was numb. But, unfortunately, it wasn't quite numb enough not to sense the dampness of the sheets and his thighs.

Great. His bladder had decided to void itself as well.

Part of him didn't care; this is what Noé signed up for. _This_ was the grim, awful, mortifying truth of opiate withdrawal. Part of him, however, felt overwhelmingly guilty. He should've just left. Would Noé have even called the police? Was it just an empty threat?

Could he have saved both of them from this?

"Crying out for your sugar daddy, are we?"

Vanitas wanted to frown, and glare at her with burning hate. However, that proved to be considerably more difficult than anticipated when your stomach was preoccupied with rejecting its own acid.

"F-Fuck off…" he just about choked out, flicking his hair away from his face. Breathing heavily over the buckets, Vanitas waited for his stomach to settle, before turning the well-earned glare to Domi. However, the glare softened almost immediately, as he averted his gaze to the floor and lowered his head, panting desperately for air. "Can you… please get my clothes…?"

With an exasperated sigh, Domi turned around, opening the door slightly more and yelling at the top of her lungs. "Babe?! Can you get the scumbag's clothes out of the wash? He's pissed himself again!"

Vanitas didn't hear anything from downstairs apart from footsteps, the heels of boots – he presumed – clicking against the wooden floor rhythmically. Shortly after, they proceeded to the stairs.

"Domi, watch what you're saying."

 _That voice…_

 _It's… familiar…_

"Why? It's not like he deserves any better."

The voice got closer, and for once, Vanitas managed to will himself not to throw up for the moment.

"You don't know what he's going th-"

The very second the door cracked open, and Vanitas crossed glances with Domi's supposed "girlfriend", the two froze.

And their blood ran cold.

In the door frame, there stood a young lady, no older than 21, with short blonde hair styled just above her shoulders and neck. She would a sleeveless blouse, low cut to reveal a generous amount of cleavage. Additionally, she wore tight, black skinny jeans, along with slightly heeled ankle boots.

The expression on her face was a picture in itself, one conveying shock. Pure, raw shock. Vanitas was fairly certain his would be the same.

Because this woman - no older than 21, with short blonde hair, the sleeveless blouse, skinny jeans - sent a sickening, nauseating feeling of familiarity through his blood. His heart pounded so hard to the point he could hear it. His eyes doubled in size.

They didn't look away from each other when Domi spoke.

"What the hell is going on here?" she snarled, folding her arms over and slouching against the door.

"Domi, I-I… can you please… leave?" she stuttered; barely. "I… I know who this is…"

Domi, throwing her arms up, spun around, turning towards the corridor and kicking the door open a little more. "Whatever. Shout if you need anything."

The other swallowed thickly, not registering when her girlfriend left and slammed the door shut behind her.

That left them alone.

Awkwardness, a sense of apathy, accumulated between them.

Until Vanitas moved. And suddenly, the endless stare they held was broken.

Tears. Tears built up in his eyes but he absolutely refused to let them fall. Refused to let that emotional barrier he'd held for _five fucking years_ slip away because of…

 _Her._

His hands trembling. Shakily, he leant over to the bedside table, and picked up the pack of cigarettes, just to retrieve one, and the lighter beside them. Lifting the lighter up to the tip once he'd stuck it between his teeth, Vanitas was barely able to flick the flame on for long enough to light it. The rush of nicotine through his veins after the first inhale was pathetic, but the comforting feeling simply holding the cigarette gave just about enough of a sense of calm for him to not break down right there.

Flitting his eyes up to the ceiling to watch the smoke dissipating, he suddenly heard her voice again; Vanitas jolted, involuntarily.

"Um…" she stammered, shaking. Slowly, she slipped a pack of cigarettes from out her back pocket, and held a singular one out between two fingers. "Can I… borrow y-your, um… lighter, please…?"

Reluctantly, with a dismissive snort, Vanitas lifted his arm up with all the energy he had left, holding the flame on for long enough to allow the other to place the cigarette to her lips and bend down to hijack the flame. He watched her every move, from when she inhaled on the cigarette more desperately than he'd ever seen someone do so, to when the smoke elegantly drifted out from the parted lips, and mingled with the smoke from his own cigarette whilst floating around the ceiling.

"Jeanne."

Her name escaped his lips before he could stop it.

Tears fell down her face like a dripping tap: individually, but clearly. Her eyes, still wide, glistened in the light from the window.

When she spoke, the words were almost indecipherable from the tightness in her throat. "Vani… tas…"

"I'm fine," he spat at her before she could even ask the question.

"N-No…" Jeanne refused, shaking her head frantically as the tears continued streaming down her face. "I-Is this what… you've become? Is this because I-"

"You have _nothing_ to do with this," Vanitas interjected bitterly, denial deeply woven into his words. Woven so deeply into it that Jeanne almost missed it.

Silence befell them once again. Nausea overcame Vanitas, but he refused to acknowledge it, instead sucking on the cigarette and placing a hand over his stomach.

"You're lying…" Jeanne blatantly accused. She sniffed, attempted to brush the tears away from her face, and dragged nervously on the cigarette, all before speaking again. "You… you were never like _this_!"

The sidelong glances from Vanitas which held nothing but pain and self-hate told her as much.

"What?" He scoffed. "You want me to tell you that it's all your fault? That you caused me to be like this? That you led me down this path?"

Jeanne swallowed thickly, and nodded. "I want you to tell the truth."

"The _truth._ " Vanitas snorted in blunt derision. "Then yes, alright?! This is _your_ fault! All of it! It's your _fucking_ fault! Are you happy now?!"

Speechless. That's what she was left as. Her mouth dropped open, but no words came out.

"That's what I thought," he spat, reverting his focus to the adjacent wall.

Jeanne opened her mouth to speak once more, but choked instead. Partially covering her tear stained face with the hand holding the burning cigarette, she fell back, sliding down the edge of the bed until she landed onto the floor with an audible _thump_. Her knee, held tightly to her chest, became her next headrest; the next way of shielding herself from that guilt-stirring, disappointed look Vanitas would turn her way every other second.

"Vanitas, I… I'm sorry. I shouldn't have left…"

Wordlessly, Vanitas leaned over to the bedside table, snuffing out the half-burnt cigarette. Then, he stood up, willing his legs to work just this once as he grabbed the clothes from the side of the room.

He would break soon. Just _looking_ at Jeanne was enough to make those unwanted memories return. The memories he'd gone so damn far to block out.

And now, what was it all for?

The temptation to be inebriated was too strong. Irresistible. He just wanted to be high again, and Noé could go fuck himself if he wanted to stop him.

"You had the right to leave," he said. His back to Jeanne, he hastily got changed out of the soiled clothes, as if he'd only just remembered he was wearing them. Fortunately, she didn't even try to look up at any point. That was good; she didn't need to see all the scars from his endeavours over the past five years. "I can't deny that. But you left without saying anything."

Jeanne remained silence, spare the occasional strained sob escaping her quivering lips.

"What do you have to say to that then?" Vanitas interrogated, his gaze flitting to his open pocket. The wad of cash was visible, and excruciatingly tempting.

"Vanitas I… I'm sorry…" she sniffed. "There were… _outstanding circumstances._ "

Vanitas thinned his lips, and flicked through the cash. He was right from the beginning; this would never last.

"And I'm sorry too," he said, half mockingly, as he proceeded to the window. "Now it's my turn to leave because of _outstanding circumstances._ "

"Please stop!" Jeanne scrambled onto her feet, grabbing at the bedsheets out of panic, dropping the cigarette in her haste. Her gaze was pleading him to stay, but Vanitas had already made his decision. "Please… t-this is my fault… just let me explain! A-And then… I can _help_ you!"

"There's nothing you can do to help me."

Before Jeanne could respond, the gap between them was closed. Acrid, chapped lips were planted on hers, a cigarette tainted tongue sliding into her mouth.

Vanitas' lips felt… warm, though. Nostalgic.

It was a kiss that said 'sorry' – a kiss to convey all the words they couldn't bring themselves to speak.

He parted less than ten seconds later, dragging a finger dexterously along her jawline. Then, spinning on his heel, Vanitas fled to the window.

Jeanne was too frozen in his trance to stop him.

And then she looked up. The window was open, but Vanitas was no longer there, a light breeze brushing through the curtains like the remnants of his presence.

"I heard a crash, what happened?"

 _Is that… Domi?_

"Jeanne? Are you even listening to me?"

"He…" she choked out, tears still falling down her cheeks and dripping into pools on the floorboards "I… it's my fault he's…"

"Hey, babe, it's alright. You couldn't have stopped him going down that path," Domi said, crouching down on one knee beside Jeanne, rubbing a hand on her shoulder in an attempt at comfort. Her words were laced with a vague sense of bitterness. "Who even was he?"

Jeanne swallowed thickly, and buried the palms of her hands in her eye sockets. "Do you remember… 6 years ago, when I told you that I… was leaving someone behind?"

Domi nodded slowly.

"That's… him. Vanitas is… the person I left."

"Dickhead…" she muttered under her breath, rolling her eyes. "Where did he go?"

Jeanne sniffed, wiping some of the tears away from her cheeks. It hurt so, so much to say these words. "To relapse, I think…"

"Son of a bitch…" Domi hissed, and then sighed, pulling out her phone. "Alright. It's looks like we need to break the news to Noé. And fast."

* * *

His body was heavy. Sweat poured down his forehead. His head was throbbing. His muscles ached.

 _Almost… there…_

Vanitas knew it would never last. It was obvious. Inherently so. What was even the point in trying to get clean in the first place?

The moment he'd left Noé's house - going as fast as he possibly could like the police were on his tail (they probably were) - Vanitas had texted Dante. And within a minute of contacting him, he got the much anticipated reply, confirming that he'd be at the usual place in 20 minutes.

And luck was really on his side; the train was dead on time.

Vanitas wasn't sure he'd ever run anywhere quite as fast as he did.

The "normal place" was a small alley off the side of the main road, just down the street from the station. The same place he'd met Dante when he'd first escaped from Noé's.

It was damn-near the place he'd been when Noé originally found him.

 _I'm… sorry, Noé._

It was too late to go back now.

 ** _[From Dante, 14:37]_**  
 _Im inside your little campout_

Ah, yes. Vanitas' make-do home: a deserted building down said alley frequently used by addicts as shelter.

As he strode down the alley, his fingers itching for the drugs he knew awaited him, Vanitas couldn't help but feel comfortable at the site of smashed windows and crumbling building sites.

A broken place made for broken people like him.

That didn't matter right now. He could self-loathe during the comedown of the next high.

"I knew you'd be back soon."

The sound of Dante's voice might have been reassuring, however, Vanitas' nerves wore thinner and thinner with every step closer to the drugs.

In one swift, rash move, he spun around, grabbed Dante's shoulder, and firmly pinned him against one of the cracked walls. Then, with the hand not restraining the other, Vanitas shoved a hand into his coat pocket, pulling out a whole wad of cash.

"Listen to me," he breathed heavily, thrusting the cash into Dante's hand. "You're gonna take my money; I don't give a single shit how much of it you take, and then you're going to give me the strongest heroin you've got."

"Woah, chill," Dante hushed, and rolled his eyes. "In _this_ state, Oxy will do you better."

Vanitas blinked a few times. His thoughts were lagging; it took a few moments for him to comprehend what he'd said, and remember was 'Oxy' was, before he could respond. "Look at me, Dante. Do you think I give a single fuck what opiate you're trying to give me?"

"If you're gonna treat me like this, I don't have to sell to you." Dante folded his arms over pointedly. Vanitas had only just realised he didn't have the usual cigarette dangling from his mouth.

"No," he spat, giving Dante one last shove before retreating, and pacing, pointing accusingly at him as he spun around again. "But you want my money. Am I wrong?"

Dante, throwing his arms up in defeat, saw no point in trying to form a coherent response from the other.

He was an addict, sure, but there was something different about Vanitas. Vanitas was always different, but…

There was just something about him which set him apart from all of Dante's other clients; all the desperate buyers who just wanted to feel…

Normal.

"I'll prepare the shot for ya," he said, before lobbing a small but generously packed bag of cocaine at the other. "On the house. Go nuts."

And so he did. With trembling hands, Vanitas tore open the bag, tipping out some of the white powder and arranging them into 3 lines. The lines were totally disproportionate, but that didn't matter right now.

In a craving-induce haze, he bent over, tilted his head downwards, and snorted all 3 lines in one breath.

The flood of euphoria was blissful, but the unfathomable cravings had yet to be satisfied.

"Vanitas, take it."

Vanitas' neck cracked when he lifted his head up, locking eyes with the syringe. Yes, the syringe: a dusty brown liquid filling the plastic container, painfully tempting.

This was where he belonged, after all.

Diving forward, Vanitas didn't even hesitate when he snatched the drugs from Dante's grip, trying to settle his trembling fingers. He rolled up his sleeve, and readied the needle at an exact 45 degree angle to where he _knew_ there was a vein.

And then he pushed the piston, and let the drugs course through his partially collapsed veins.

The feeling of the high was the best he'd felt in a long, long time. Vanitas felt himself slipping further and further away from the surface of consciousness.

Watching as the other drifted away from reality, Dante took his cue to leave, turning towards the gap which would've been a door.

Just before he left, he spun back around to where Vanitas was slumped against the wall, and delivered his parting words with such genuineness in his words.

Genuine, and slightly manipulative.

"It's good to have you back, Vanitas."

* * *

 ** _[From Domi, 15:23]_**

 _Did u find him yet? xx_

 ** _[From Domi, 15:23]_**  
 _Jeanne has gone home now, I'll wait back at yours xx_

 ** _[From Domi, 15:25]_**  
 _I'll take that as a no then_

Noé didn't bother with replying to her messages. He had one goal, one objective, at the forefront of his mind: finding Vanitas.

Almost straight after he'd supposedly fled his house, Noé had gotten a call from Domi, pleading him to come home. He didn't even question why; the moment Noé heard the other's name, he instantly left work.

Upon arriving back to his house, the biggest indicator that something had happened was Jeanne, in hysterics on his guest room floor.

Admittedly, his gut reaction was to call the police. But Noé couldn't bring himself to do that.

He was so close to being done.

The drive to help him was so much stronger than that tiny, insignificant voice telling him to give up now. So, without hesitation or a second of contemplation, Noé had gotten straight back in his car, and was now borderline speeding around the city in search for Vanitas.

Time would only exacerbate the situation, after all.

Noé knew he'd relapsed by this point. That was inevitable. And if he hadn't, he wouldn't be able to stop him once the opportunity arose.

Despite that, the main cause for concern was just a sickening inkling of doubt in the pit of his stomach, overthinking everything.

What if something had happened to him?

Noé couldn't bear to watch that pan out. Not if he could've stopped it in some way.

 _Stop it…_

 _Stop…_

 _That's it!_

The epiphany hit Noé like a train. Hastily, he slammed on the brakes, the car coming to an abrupt stop by the side of the road.

 _Of course he's…_

The buildings were hauntingly familiar, a painfully nostalgic and memory-stirring aura about the area.

It _had_ only been 3 days ago, after all.

Yes: _this_ was the alley Noé had first found Vanitas in. The place which was – presumably – his home. A torn-down, decrepit building.

Mentally preparing himself for what he was _sure_ to find, Noé plucked up enough courage to actually get out of the car, slamming the door behind him and striding over to the abandoned house. Syringes littered the entrance, and the entire vicinity stank of bleach, cigarettes, and vomit, but that didn't even start to put Noé off.

Then he saw it – blood. Blood and vomit; a line of it, spotting the stairs like a trail. And it was fresh.

This wasn't _quite_ what he'd expected.

Adrenaline coursing through his veins, Noé abandoned any dread and simply readied himself. Knees shaking, he climbed the stairs, folding his arms over to avoid the rotten and sticky handrails. He was fairly certain he'd stepped in vomit several times, but if his intuition was right and Vanitas _was_ here, that wouldn't exactly be a first.

The very second Noé reached the top of the stairs, he saw it.

Sure enough, Vanitas was here.

Physically.

Unconscious.

And in a puddle of vomit.

The empty syringe on the floor beside him was enough for Noé to know precisely what'd happened.

Once again, the stench of vomit didn't stop him from stomping over to the lifeless corpse – oh for Christ, how he hoped it _wasn't_ that – and bending down onto one knee beside it. With two fingers, Noé hurriedly tried to find a pulse. At his neck, there was virtually nothing. It was only when he found the very faint feeling of blood pumping through his frail wrists that he even knew Vanitas was still alive.

He was almost dead.

"Vanitas? Can you hear me?"

Nothing.

"Alright, you're coming with me!" he said aggressively, despite being fully aware Vanitas couldn't hear him. With one hand, he effortlessly hoisted the motionless body onto his shoulders, ignoring the blood and vomit smeared all over his face, or the nauseating, rhythmic sound of his almost-dead heartbeat.

If Vanitas was awake, he'd probably slap him, and demand to know where they were going before proceeding to sulk about it.

"We're going to the hospital, idiot!" Noé answered to the little voice of Vanitas in his head. "I refuse to let you die! And… and I… I _refuse_ to let all that be for _nothing_!"


	5. Chapter 5: Revival

**_(A/Ns: wow, i actually reached the last (full) chapter. next update is the epilogue which will be uploaded next Friday because it's shorter. oh, and trans!Astolfo gets a guest appearance._**

 ** _Please drop a review, as usual!_**

 ** _content warnings: smoking, swearing, implications of suicide/self harm, vomiting, mentions of rape, a drug overdose, drug abuse + addiction, and the long awaited vannoe kiss :D_**

 ** _disclaimer: i do not own vanitas no carte)_**

* * *

 _Chapter 5: Revival_

 _Dark…_

 _No…_

 _It's light…_

 _Am I dead?_

 _Is this what death feels like?_

 _Is this…_

 _…_ _the end?_

 _No…_

 _It's… too good of an end…_

 _…_ _for someone like-_

"Vanitas!"

Vanitas' eyes snapped open, the light from the sterile white room hijacking his vision and instantly stirring up a migraine. Everything was a blur – his hearing, his touch, his sight, even. He knew he had yet to awaken fully; right now, Vanitas was trapped, drifting between the state of deep sleep and the surface of consciousness.

After a few more seconds, he was just about able to make out the conversation going on beside him.

"His vitals are just about stable, but we need to keep him on bed rest for the time being."

 _I don't… recognise that voice…_

"I think he's waking up now…"

That voice was definitely Noé.

"Hm, yes. It'll take a while for him to come-to. The overdose was nearly fatal. He's lucky you found him, really."

 _I wish you'd left me to die._

"Do you know anything about the history of his addiction? You described yourself as a 'friend' on the paperwork."

"Um, no… he hasn't told me much. It was, er… a recent discovery."

"Alright. We'll have to discuss the options going forward when he wakes up."

"Look… I know I shouldn't really be asking this, but… is he going to, um… be in trouble?"

There was a brief moment of silence.

"He shouldn't be. It'll be more likely that he will be offered help, rather than prison."

"Got it," Noé sounded relieved. "Thank you, doctor…"

Vanitas still couldn't see clearly, but once he was sure the doctor had left, he finally mustered up the strength to turn his head, and languidly glance up at Noé.

Noé, seemingly aware that Vanitas was staring at him, turned around. "You've been awake through all of that, haven't you?"

Wordlessly, Vanitas lifted both arms to behind his back, pushing himself into an upright position. He felt himself shake beneath his admittedly low weight, his stomach churning every time he moved, or breathed. Then, averting his gaze to the floor beside the bed, he nodded, leaning against the raised edge of the bed and gripping the metal.

His eyes trailed to the IV drip in his left arm, a sickening feeling washing over him like the layer of sweat still coating his body.

At least there was a bucket.

"Vanitas?"

"Wait… a moment…" he panted, his eyes falling shut as he drew in a deep, shaky breath. Forcefully, he swallowed down the nausea; he didn't _want_ to be sick anymore.

Especially since this wasn't even the withdrawal.

"If you feel sick, it's just the naloxone."

 _Naloxone…_

 _That's…_

Vanitas couldn't mentally finish his sentence – his thoughts were lagging too much – before the bile rose in his throat once again, and his first instinct was to throw himself back over the edge of the bed with his head over the bucket. The acrid taste of vomit burned in his throat, a feeling he was annoyingly familiar at this point.

 _…_ _overdose…_

Meanwhile, Noé hadn't moved a muscle from where he stood at the door. He knew Vanitas got bitter when he offered help. Instead, he simply waited, trying to stir his focus away from watching the other throw up just as (possible more) violently as when the withdrawal first started. He didn't yet know if Vanitas had even remembered what happened only earlier that day.

As usual, it took over 5 minutes for Vanitas to stop voiding his stomach into the bucket, his breathing heavy.

When he slumped back against the bed, Noé finally worked up the courage to confront him. "Are you ready to talk now?"

"Tch, about what?" Vanitas feigned cluelessness.

"About the overdose, idiot," Noé said bluntly. A short pause ensued the conversation. When he spoke again, a few moments later, Noé's tone was significantly softer. "Why… did you relapse?"

The memories of Jeanne, crying, sobbing over him, and begging him not to leave all resurfaced. Vanitas frowned; he didn't _want_ to remember that. The point of getting high was that he was supposed to _forget._

Yes, forget. Forget all the stupid, worthless emotions which welled up in his chest and caused tears to brew in his eyelids.

It hadn't worked though, had it?

What was even the point?

"Vanitas?"

He sniffed, bringing a shaking hand up to his apparently wet cheeks. Vanitas hadn't realised he was crying until now.

"Why did you save me?" he sobbed, almost incoherently. His words were muffled, his head having been buried with his face in his hands. A shield, you could say. "I'm… I'm supposed to be dead right now."

At first, Noé didn't reply. A feeling of sympathy washed over him. Even when he _was_ high, or rather – coming down, his body still didn't cooperate with him.

It was the first time he'd actually felt bad for an addict.

"Vanitas…" he said, drawing in a hesitant breath. "Do you… want to get clean?"

At that, Vanitas' last emotional wall crumbled.

Everything he'd repressed for the past 5 hours – the past 5 _years_ – came pouring out. An incoherent sob was only the beginning, an endless stream of tears and sniffling following. The tightening in his chest made more tears well up, trailing down his cheeks and onto the pillow.

No matter how many times he sniffed, or wiped his eyes, Vanitas couldn't stop the seemingly ceaseless tears from welling up in his eyes and making their escape.

It felt pointless. All of it.

What was the point in being here? In going home? Sure, his fingers itched for the next hit. But what was it all for?

The woman who didn't love him anymore?

"Do you… want to keep doing this?"

Unable to choke out the words necessary to respond, Vanitas instead shook his head, sniffling again as his bangs fell over his tear-glazed eyes.

If he left right now, he'd simply go back, get high, have sex with some random person, and then get high again.

 _"_ _High"_

 _Good one._

It was all just one big lie.

Pointless.

"I don't… want to do this anymore…" Vanitas sobbed, inhaling a deep, shaky breath in a futile attempt to calm himself. "I want to get… to get _clean_."

"That's…" Noé stammered, unable to form a coherent response at first. Vanitas had _not_ given him the answer he'd expected to receive. "That's okay… we'll… we can work through this together."

Vanitas sniffed again. He wasn't so sure of that.

No, they'd… they'd work through it.

"What… happened with Jeanne?"

"I…" Vanitas swallowed. "Everything I'd done was because of her. But… she moved on in life, so I guess… I-I have to as well."

"No, like…" Noé internally facepalmed; Vanitas wasn't stupid. Perhaps he was just avoiding the question. "In general, or before… what happened between you two?"

At that, a sly, almost unnoticeable grin began to tug at Vanitas' lips, despite the tears still staining his cheeks. "You're after a story time then, eh?"

Noé spoke firmly. "Yes. After everything, I think I _deserve_ to know what led you down that path."

For a few moments, Vanitas simply stared up at the ceiling in contemplation, one arm resting over his eyes. Then, he inhaled deeply, and exhaled through thinly pursed lips, his eyes falling shut. "I guess you're right. You _do_ deserve to know.

"Jeanne and I met when we were kids. I don't remember exactly when. I remember having a fake wedding with her when I was about 6, so… needless to say, it's… been a while." The memories he spoke up filled him with a sickening nostalgia, and were obviously painful to speak of, but he still carried on, nevertheless. "One thing led to another, and I ended up asking her to be my girlfriend when we were 12, I think.

"Everyone says that… when you're that age, relationships don't matter. They don't mean anything. Usually, I'd believe them. However… well, I don't think I'd be where I am right now if that were true.

"We were 15 when we first had sex, and I think… that was the real declaration of our relationship." Vanitas paused yet again, seemingly in a nostalgia-induced daze. "I really did love her, and I _thought_ she loved me.

"There was one night in particular, about a year later, when we were both 16, which… changed things. Well, _I_ didn't know it was significant. But apparently, that was her last night."

"What did you do on her last night?" Noé asked. "It seems… significant."

"Oh, my dear Noé, it _was_ ," he grinned. Sadly, at that. "Usually, she'd come to mine – my parents were often out – we'd light a few cigarettes, or whatever, and then we'd make love.

" _That_ night, well… she brought along a little bit of weed. It was my first time getting high, but of course, naïve-little-me saw no issue with smoking it.

"And then the next day… she left. Without a word or even a note." He sighed, turning over to face the opposite side of the wall to where Noé stood. "I should've seen it coming. Her bringing drugs was so… out of character.

"The next time I got high, I remembered being with her. Eventually, I moved up, and up, and up – you name it, I took it. Dante was already my dealer by this point. By the time I was 17, I'd already started using heroin weekly, and then daily, and then regularly."

"Hang on," Noé interjected. "Where… were your parents in all of this?"

"They found out about the heroin when I was 18, and I first went into withdrawal. I was offered rehab, but… I wasn't ready for that, so I ran away," he said, his words laced with regret. "From there, the only thing I did to get money was sell myself. And… the last 3 years have been no different at all."

"I see…"

Noé wasn't sure how to react to that. Everything he'd learnt about Vanitas over the past few days seemed to make sense. He was _used_ to this chaos – this disequilibrium in his life.

Then, after a minute of silence, Vanitas lowered his head, and when tears began dripping onto the bedsheets with a strained sob, Noé knew he'd started crying uncontrollably again. Sure enough, he was nonplussed.

"I can't stay like this anymore…" he whispered, inhaling a ragged breath. "I don't care if it means withdrawal again. I'm just done with… with how things are going right now. I need _change_."

"Are you ready for rehab?"

"No- fuck, _yes_. I _am_."

"Are you ready to speak to _her_ again?"

At that, Vanitas froze, and turned his tear-glazed focus up to the Archiviste. It took a few seconds for him to process what he meant.

Then he answered.

"Yes," Vanitas said, his tone a clear and blunt reflection of how fed up of this he was. "Is she here?"

"Um, yes…" Noé replied.

"Get her. I want to say _'fuck you'_ and goodbye."

"O-Ok… I'll… speak to a doctor about getting you into rehab."

Wordlessly, Vanitas nodded gratefully at him, as he turned on his heel and proceeded out the door.

No more than 30 seconds later, his presence had been replaced by a cold aura of hatred. The moment Vanitas laid eyes on Jeanne, that was.

A gaze that held a million words neither of them would even dare to say to each other.

Soon enough, however, their stare broke, Jeanne succumbing to guilt caused just by looking at Vanitas. Vanitas: hooked up to an IV, stinking of vomit, and shaking after a mere 4 hours cessation from drugs.

The drugs that _she_ caused him to be dependent on.

Vanitas scowled at her; perhaps he'd changed his mind about wanting to see her.

"You have 5 minutes to say all you want to say," he declared firmly, sitting up. His arms shook under the strain of lifting even his minimal weight, and his fingers itched for a cigarette, but regardless, he would sit through this.

It may be the last time he hears from her, after all.

"… I'm listening."

"Um, okay…" she started hesitantly, fiddling with her fingers and staring down at the floor, and Vanitas could tell she itched for a smoke just as much as he did. "Is there any possible way we could, um… take this outside?"

For a few seconds, Vanitas simply scanned the IV machine up and down, figuring out whether or not it would be possible to drag that monstrosity outside. In the end, he gave up; if going out for a cigarette meant ripping the damn thing out of his hand, then so be it.

And thus, he did, dropping the tube onto the floor, the plastic cord between the drip and the needle suspending it just above the floor. His legs hurt the moment they touched the floor, but regardless, Vanitas still dragged himself off the bed, and over to the door where Jeanne stood. Fortunately, Noé didn't see him staggering out of the hospital room and to the fire exit, which led out onto a small, rectangular patch of land.

Most of it was shielded by overgrown plants, but in the corner of the area, just above visible, there was a bench: worn out, but still usable. Both of them laid eyes on it at exactly the same moment, Jeanne leading them over and Vanitas lagging behind.

With silence taking priority over conversation, the two sat down beside each other. Jeanne slid the cigarettes out of her pocket, and a moment later, Vanitas held a hand out expectantly. Wordlessly, she placed a single cigarette in the palm of his hand; at this point, it was the least she could do. Before she even lit her own, she held the lighter out to Vanitas, watching the stress somewhat dissipate from his shoulders from the first drag. Then, she lit up herself.

For 5 minutes, neither of them dared to speak. The silence was enough of a reflection of their speechlessness. Every glance they occasionally shot at each other said all they needed to say.

"I'm waiting," Vanitas said, sucking on the cigarette. "I've already given you more time than you deserve."

"I… I know…" Jeanne stammered, staring at the smoke rising from her cigarette. She drew in a deep breath, and then continued speaking. "I know… there's nothing I can do to make this up to you. I was stupid. I… should've told you why I was leaving. No… I shouldn't have left at all. And I… I just want to say that I'm so, so sorry. For everything."

"Apology not accepted," Vanitas said bluntly, throwing aside the nearly finished cigarette and standing up, brushing the dirt off himself which he'd only just noticed was there. "I know you're sorry. But that doesn't mean I can forgive you." He paused. "I think you should leave. I don't want you in my life anymore."

Jeanne was speechless, once again.

He was right, though. She didn't deserve to be forgiven.

"I thought you'd be out here."

Both heads turned towards the source of the voice the moment they heard it, spotting Noé at the fire door with his arms folded over. He didn't seem annoyed, though. His eyes darted between them, trying to read into the situation.

"We can go now," Vanitas declared, as he turned his back on Jeanne and strode away to where Noé was. "I'm done with her."

"Uh, okay," Noé said, unsure of what to say. He seemed pissed, and Noé didn't particularly want to push him. "Oh, you… left these at mine." He stuck a hand into his pocket, producing a pack of cigarettes and extending them out to Vanitas.

"That's alright." A devious smirk tugged at Vanitas' lips. In one swift move, he grabbed the cigarettes off Noé, spun on his heel, and chucked the pack at Jeanne. "Keep them. I'm getting clean from both drugs, _and_ you."

"Wh-"

Jeanne was unable to complete her sentence before Vanitas once again turned his back on her, facing Noé instead. Subtly, he dragged his tongue across his lower lip, the grin widening.

Noé didn't get the hints Vanitas was dropping of his objective until he closed the gap between then. One hand snaking around to the back of Noé's neck, he promptly placed his lips onto the other's.

A few seconds later, sure enough, Noé sunk into the kiss. Smoothly, Vanitas slid his tongue into Noé's mouth, the taste of cigarettes and cold metal colliding with his taste buds, and Noé couldn't believe he had only _just_ noticed that Vanitas had his tongue pierced. His eyes fell shut in sync with the other's, both of them further melting into each other's embrace.

Neither of them noticed when Jeanne stood up, snuffed out the cigarette on the ground, and walked straight over to the door, with one last glance at Vanitas which said all she had left to say.

Absolutely nothing.

Meanwhile, it took over two minutes for Vanitas and Noé to part, gasping for air the second their lips separated. Briefly, they made eye contact, but neither of them spoke.

Noé felt a flutter in his chest, and so did Vanitas.

"Um…" he started, his tongue tripping over his words. "There's… a rehab about half an hour away from here… who're ready to take you tomorrow morning. The hospital want to keep you overnight, though."

Vanitas went silent, seemingly thinking.

"… I'll pay for the rehab."

"You don't need to do that."

"I don't need to. I want to," Noé said. "We discussed this. Your suffering is my payment."

Vanitas snickered, shaking his head tragically at Noé's antics. And the fact that he tried to say that seriously, but cracked, and chuckled only a couple of seconds later.

Leaning up to him and pressing a hand to his waist, Vanitas placed his lips back onto Noé's, his next words muffled by their kiss.

"You really are… a pain in the ass."

* * *

The next morning came around too soon. For the both of them.

Firstly, it had just passed 5:30am; the rehab had asked for him to be dropped off before 6am, and Noé also had a job to attend to. _That_ , however, meant it'd been well over 12 hours since Vanitas' last shot of heroin. And, sure enough, he'd been thrown straight into withdrawal again.

It was nowhere near as severe as last time, since he _had_ only used once, but that didn't stop the terrible shaking and cold flashes from returning. Fortunately, it'd been the first time in the past few days he had gone more than 8 hours without puking his guts up.

Strangely, that felt like progress.

Every bone and every muscle in his body ached and itched for the drugs, however, Vanitas chose to suppress that urge, instead averting his attention to attempting to still his hands even remotely.

Right now, he was curled up in the front seat of Noé's car, a blanket wrapped around his knees which were pinned to his chest and shielding his arms from the morning breeze. The sun had barely risen, and the roads were practically empty, adding to the heavy silence which hung over both of them.

"How are you feeling?" Noé asked in an attempt to start idle conversation.

"Like absolute shit. Is it not obvious?"

Noé chewed on his lower lip hesitantly. "Are you sure you're ready for this?"

"Yes," Vanitas hissed at him, bitterly. "I may feel like absolute shit, and I'm fairly certain I'll have to go through the withdrawal again. But… I feel ready this time." There was a short pause. "Like... I'm doing it on my own free will."

Wordlessly, Noé nodded, and reverted his focus to the road ahead.

"So…" He started up the conversation again after less than a minute of silence. "What do you want to do when you get out of there?"

"Oh please," Vanitas scoffed, lulling his head back against the seat with an audible _'huff'._ "That'll be at least… 6 months. We can cross that bridge… when we come to it."

Once again, Noé nodded.

It was becoming increasingly difficult to uphold the conversation when there was only one thought at the forefront of Noé's mind: why he'd kissed him. The memory: it was just as fresh as the taste of Vanitas seemingly left on his lips, and Noé just wanted to ask _why_.

The gut response he'd experienced was undeniable. He'd never felt that about someone before. Sure, he'd had one-night stands; several, at that, but his naivety when it came to the enigma of 'true love' still remained. Was that weird flutter he'd felt affection, or just sympathy?

Or was it love, even?

Noé hadn't a clue.

"Why… did you kiss me yesterday?"

The question slipped out before he could stop it.

"Isn't it obvious?" Vanitas turned his unimpressed, slightly distant glare to Noé. "I like you, dumbass."

"Oh…"

The flutter in Noé's chest returned. It was obvious now.

How could he _not_ like him, after everything – all the utter shit they'd been through together? Sure, it may have only been five days, but most people didn't fight, go through withdrawal, nearly die, and have their life saved in that time.

"I…" Noé felt himself choke on his words momentarily. "I think I like you too."

Vanitas blinked at him a few times, wide-eyed. Then, he sank back into the seat, turned his eyes back on the blurred view out of the window, and said, "Good. I hoped you'd say that."

As expected, the rest of the journey progressed in silence. Fortunately, it only took 15 minutes or so before they were off the main road, and travelling down a small, single-lane road to an isolated country-style building in – to put it bluntly – the middle of nowhere.

Nearly throwing up in his mouth a little, Vanitas swallowed thickly, and glanced up. This building looked _far_ too much like the cliché rehabs he'd heard about. And he hadn't heard good things about rehab.

It was too late to turn back now.

Vanitas itched for smoke, just to lessen his nerves for the time being, but ultimately knew that there was no point in picking and choosing his addictions. It was all or nothing, and stupidly, it seemed as though he'd gone with _nothing_.

Besides, Jeanne still had his cigarettes from yesterday. Another one of his stupid decisions, he noted.

A shudder ran through him; what if he _wasn't_ ready for this, after all?

"Vanitas?"

He hadn't even noticed he'd stopped moving.

"It's nothing," Vanitas dismissed, despite the fact he could physically feel Noé's concerned-as-always gaze locking on him. Shivering, he took another hesitant step forward, gritting his teeth at the bitter breeze ripping through the air. At least the snow had cleared up.

"Vanitas, listen to me," Noé said firmly, and before the other could stop him, he grabbed Vanitas' hand, his fingers gently digging into his veins. He flinched, but didn't protest or try to break free. "You'll be fine."

"Sure," Vanitas said wryly, blatantly unconvinced.

"Are you ready?"

"Possibly," he said. Another shiver ran through him. "This place just… looks too much like the rumours."

"You need help, Vanitas," Noé declared. "You need to be here for that."

"I was doing just fine at yours," Vanitas sulked.

"You relapsed," Noé said bluntly. "And then almost died."

Vanitas froze, and then shrugged. "Fine, then. I was hoping to die."

Noé fell silent. Those words resounded inside him for too long. Part of him felt bad for even saving him.

No, he was being irrational. This was the withdrawal, Noé reminded himself, over and over.

"Let's go," Vanitas said, breaking the silence. "It's pointless to keep waiting."

Following Vanitas inside, Noé bit his tongue, refusing to say anymore. For him, it was pointless trying to beleaguer Vanitas' self-doubt. Right now, at least.

They could work on that one when he was clean.

Inside the rehab was minimal, a reception desk and a couple of sofas being the only things in the room they first entered from the porch. There were two doors, one labelled "staff only", and the other a large, transparent sliding door, another sign bearing "Rooms 1-13." It looked somewhat like a hotel, with a lingering scent of bleach that made it feel too much like that godforsaken hospital.

"Um… you can wait here…" Noé gestured to the sofa closest to the sliding door, handing Vanitas his bag (albeit this was mostly empty) before proceeding to the front desk.

Meanwhile, with the bag's weight dragging him down with every weak step he took, Vanitas finally reached the seat, dropping down onto the cushions and trying not to pass out right there. His muscles were in agony, as expected, and the unbearable shaking from before had returned just as prominently.

When he glanced up again, able to see clearly once again, Noé had disappeared, probably to fill out his paperwork. Not that there would be much to fill out; he didn't exactly have much a medical record as of late.

"Oi. Are you new here?"

Vanitas cranked his neck up, surprised to see someone wandering around at such a stupid time in the morning.

Appearing no older than 18, the person had dyed pastel pink hair – slightly faded – of which the brown roots had grown into a considerable amount. Most likely because of this, their hair was tied up messily in a loose ponytail at the back, several strands falling over their face. Their clothes were casual and scruffy, an oversized T-shirt bearing the words "Sleeping With Sirens" along with a pair of black, ripped skinny jeans that were still too big.

The track marks trailed all up their wrists were enough of a giveaway why they were here.

"Yeah," Vanitas snarled, scanning them up and down. "I only just got here."

Wordlessly, they dropped down onto the sofa beside Vanitas, and pulled out a pack of loose tobacco and rolling paper. Vanitas instantly averted his line of vision to the wall when they began rolling a cigarette.

"Name?"

"Vanitas," he answered, his face still screwed up a little. "And you are?"

"Astolfo," they answered. When the look of bemusement from Vanitas' face didn't fade at all, they sighed, and added with a role of the eyes: "Male. Well, trans. But still a guy."

"Ah," was all Vanitas said.

"Why're you here?" he asked, sliding the adhesive edge of the cigarette along his tongue and smoothing it over with a steady finger.

"I, uh… overdosed."

"Same," Astolfo confided. "Heroin?"

Vanitas nodded.

"Likewise," he said idly, and pulled out a lighter. But he didn't get up. "Who was that? The guy you came in with, I mean."

"Oh, um…" Vanitas shifted, a little awkwardly. "Weird story, but he took me in off the streets, and I… completed 72 hours of detox with him, before giving up, hence… well, the overdose. I still don't _get_ why he did it."

"Doesn't matter," Astolfo said dismissively. "Appreciate him while he lasts." There was a pause in his speech; a pause Vanitas knew better than anyone. A pause that meant the story was about to take a turn for the worst. And he was right. "I lost my boyfriend to an overdose, right before my eyes. Selfishly, I kept taking drugs, until I overdosed. And since then, I came here. It's been… 3 months now, and it fucking sucks, but… you make progress. I'm… doing it for him."

"I think… I'm doing it for Noé as well." Another pause. "What was his name?"

"Roland," Astolfo replied, brusquely, before sticking the cigarette between his lips and standing up. "I'm heading out for a smoke. You're… welcome to join me."

"No thanks," Vanitas rejected the offer before the temptation to accept it got too much. "I… I stopped that too."

"Suit yourself."

Just as Astolfo reached the doors to the front porch, Vanitas stopped him.

"Astolfo," he said, and then drew in a deep breath. "Is rehab… really as bad as everyone says?"

Astolfo stared at him blankly, deep in thought. Then, he gave an answer. "I'm still standing."

That was all he said, before he disappeared outside. Conveniently, at that moment, Noé returned.

"We can… go to your room now. And then I have to leave," he explained, taking Vanitas' bag and effortlessly flinging it over his shoulder.

"Do I not get a room card or something?"

"It's not a hotel, Vanitas," Noé chuckled, but then his expression turned serious. "You're here to get help."

Vanitas sniffed, and followed Noé down the annoyingly sterile corridor. His hands, shaking once again, just itched for a cigarette, and he desperately wanted either a couple of lines of coke, or simply his usual heroin shot.

Noé was right, though. He was here to get help.

The room itself was small. Furniture wise, it was minimal, as well, a single bed wedged in the corner beside the window, along with a bedside table and a chest of drawers opposite that. In the corner by the door, there was a desk, and chair, with an empty note pad beside a pencil pot. Finally, on the wall perpendicular to the door, there was the bathroom, half-covered by a sliding door; a sliding door with no lock, at that.

"This place seems nice," Noé commented idly, scanning the room.

"Sure," Vanitas muttered, took his bag out of Noé's hold with ease, and tossed it at the bed. "I guess this is… goodbye then. For now, at least."

"You make it sound like you're going to die," Noé couldn't help but look a little shocked. Hopefully – _hopefully –_ Vanitas wasn't being serious.

"Who says I won't?"

"I do. You're not dying on me."

Vanitas scowled for a second. Then, his expression morphed into a smirk, almost, as he took two steps closer to Noé, closing the gap between them. Subtly, he dragged one finger down Noé's chest, making eye contact briefly before dropping his gaze to where his finger had ended up: at the other's crotch. "I never… _properly_ thanked you for this. So… thank you, Noé. I'll make it up to you when I'm clean."

The moment it clicked with Noé that Vanitas was implying sex, Noé pulled his hands away, frantically waving them. "No! Y-You don't have to do that!"

"Really?" Vanitas cocked an eyebrow at him, and gestured to the bulge at his crotch which made his pants _considerably_ tighter. "I think your little friend would disagree."

Instead of being embarrassed, Noé felt a smile tug at his lips, as he leant down, placed a hand on the side of Vanitas' face, and captured the other's lips in a passionate, meaningful kiss. The metal of his tongue piercing felt cold, just like yesterday, but with the taste of cigarettes and vomit no longer there, it simply felt… better.

Perfect, even.

Their lips parting slightly, Noé inhaled when Vanitas exhaled, and spoke four very brief words again his lips. "When you're clean, Vanitas."

That was the last thing he said, before pulling away entirely, spinning on his heel, and proceeding straight to the door.

 _"_ _When you're clean, Vanitas."_

Vanitas held onto thought, as he collapsed back onto the bed, his hair splaying out behind him against the pillow. His headache from this morning was on the verge of becoming a full-blown migraine again, and the shaking was damn-near unbearable, _again_.

But this time, it felt… just about ok.

There was no doubt about it: doing all of this again would be the hardest thing he'd ever done. And this time, when he was alone… well, it _could_ be even _worse_.

However, in the end, Vanitas ultimately _knew_ he had to do it. For himself, and his future.

And if not for himself, he would do it for Noé.


	6. Chapter 6: Epilogue

**_(A/Ns: ahhhhh i forgot what it's like to finish a fanfic and ashagfjskhgjb it's such a beautiful feeling :0 thank you to all my readers up until now! it's been a blast writing this fanfic! also shoutout to nawnomschnuff for literally being the motivation behind this fic :DD and the guy behind the original idea!_**

 ** _content warnings: brief mentions of drug addiction, and a lot of Vanno_** é

 _ **disclaimer: i do not own Vanitas No Carte)**_

* * *

 _Chapter 6: Epilogue_

Noé could feel his fingers trembling against the steering wheel.

6 months ago, on this day, at 5:30am in the morning, he'd been here. Driving down this road.

With Vanitas.

Vanitas, who had managed _6 months clean_ , presumably for the first time in _5 years._

It had also been 6 months since Noé had even laid eyes on him.

The last 6 months had been lonely. Despite Domi's constant pestering, Noé hadn't gone out to a nightclub or a bar or anything like that even once. Anything which would've led to another man being close to him, he simply rejected.

A few days ago, the rehab had called him. The memory was still fresh.

He was fairly certain he'd cried. Tears of joy, of course.

Vanitas hasn't relapsed. He hadn't escaped, he hadn't gotten worse, and he'd made all the progress he needed to be able to…

Well, be _free_.

It was Saturday, his first day off since the call. And sure enough, Noé was on his way the moment he was allowed to be.

He glanced up, and to the side, briefly reading the road signs. In no less than 2 minutes now, he'd see Vanitas again.

For the first time, in 6 months.

The drive down the tiny single lane road to the rehabilitation facility seemed much longer than it actually was, his heart pounding against his trembling chest. Nausea resided at the pit of his stomach, but he continued driving nonetheless.

He just wanted to see Vanitas again.

The building, standing tall, was just as he'd remembered it, the only difference being that the trees had blossomed and the sun was shining, as opposed to the cloud-shrouded morning sky of _last time._

Noé felt his heart skip a beat when he clambered out of the car, and he laid his eyes on the transparent doors to the reception. Other than the receptionist, the room was empty, which was probably a good thing; admittedly, he was _not_ ready.

A tremble in his every step, Noé slowly began approaching the rehab, shakily pushing the doors open. But despite his nerves, a smile was still wide across his face. Beaming, and _needing_ to see Vanitas.

"Um, hi…" he said, his words tripping over his tongue as he tentatively walked up to the reception desk. "I'm… here to collect, er… Vanitas?"

"Mhm…" they hummed, scanning the files briefly. "Name?"

"Oh, uh, Noé Archiviste. I was here when he checked in, s-six months ago…"

"Alright…" The receptionist smile up at him, warmly, and then stood up. "He is ready to leave now. I'll just go and get him now."

"Thank you," Noé replied, still beaming. Despite the quiver in his chest, and the ever-increasing nerves, he now felt… ready.

It took less than a minute for the receptionist to return. And, sure enough, behind them stood a very familiar person.

Vanitas. Here, in the flesh. And… clean?

He looked so… different. Firstly, he'd gained weight. Not too much – he still looked fairly underweight – but at least he looked like he'd eaten, and his face looked less _gaunt_. The constant trembling in his fingers and hands was now also entirely gone, and his complexion was just healthier. And his eyes were no longer weighed down by bags, the pupils of his not-bloodshot eyes no longer dilated.

"Vani…tas…"

Just as the word slipped out of Noé's mouth, Vanitas took three steps forward.

Three large steps which successfully closed the gap between them. And his arms, having gained so much strength, wrapped around Noé.

He sunk into his hug, grabbing Vanitas' shoulders with his shaky grip and burying his face into his shoulder. Shortly after, Noé felt Vanitas' grip instinctively curl around the leather of his jacket.

All he heard was silence for the first few moments, and then a quiet, almost inaudible sniff.

"Vanitas?" Noé said, his voice reducing to a whisper when he heard another sob. "Hey, shh. It's okay, alright? You're clean now. You've done… so well. And I'm so proud of you, okay?"

Vanitas let out a strained chuckle, and then another sniff. "I-I did it for you, dumbass."

Noé felt himself begin to tear up again. "N-No, you… you did it for yourself as well."

"I… I couldn't…" Vanitas sobbed, but Noé could feel his smile against his shoulder through his jacket. "That was… the hardest thing I've ever done…" he confessed, more tears seeping into the other's shoulder. "Noé, y-you… you have no _idea_ how many times I wanted to give up, a-and just… get high. But I… I kept going."

"I know…" Noé whispered, his fingers lacing through Vanitas' hair. "And I'm… so proud of you for it."

Vanitas sniffed, once again, and then finally pulled himself away from Noé. Sure enough, his cheeks were stained with tears, but the smile on his face was honestly the most beautiful thing he'd ever seen.

"Wait there, I'll just… fill out some paper work, and then…" Noé shifted. "I'll… take you back to mine."

Vigorously, Vanitas nodded, watching Noé saunter over to the reception desk and start scribbling.

It was a strange sensation. Something nerve-wracking – _extremely_ nerve-wracking – was going on, right before him. But the urge to get high, or light a cigarette, just wasn't there.

Physically, mentally, and emotional, he was _free_.

"Okay, let's go," Noé grinned, and took his rucksack from his back. Then, with a shaky hand, he took Vanitas' sweaty hand within his, their fingers intertwining as he led him out to the car.

And then when they reached the car, Vanitas took control once again, spinning Noé around 180 degrees and pressing him against the side of the car.

Both arms wrapping around Noé's neck, Vanitas leant up, and captured the other's lips in a passionate, nearly desperate kiss. Their lips touching, he hastily slipped his tongue into Noé's mouth, battling for and winning dominance over the embrace. Noé smirked into the kiss, his eyes glued shut as he placed his hands on the either sides of Vanitas' waist.

It was in that moment that Vanitas realised that there was no other way he wanted to spend his life.

After another two minutes, the two finally parted, panting for breath but still smiling boldly at each other. Their gazes, locked on each other's, spoke a million words.

"I want you to stay with me," Noé declared.

Vanitas' smile dropped. Just a little bit. "I can't expect that."

"Fine then." Noé's hands remained on his waist. " _I'm_ staying with you. So wherever you go, I'm _going with you_."

For a second, Vanitas paused. Then, he laughed, and stood back on his tiptoes to press his lips to Noé's once again. "You really are a pain."

Noé's eyes fell shut when their kiss resumed, conveying another million words which neither of them dared to say.

"Thank you," Vanitas whispered into the kiss. "I know there's _nothing_ I can do to make this up to you, but…"

"I don't need anything," Noé said, pulling away but only to speak. "The changes you've made to your life… it's enough."

"You made me a promise before I checked in here, you know," Vanitas' smile turned devilish. "Remember?"

The smirk on Noé's lips only widened. " _When you're clean…_ of course I remember." He spun Vanitas around, before taking a step back and opening the driver door. Warmly, he smiled at the other, pressing a hand to his jawline and wiping away his tears with a single finger.

"Let's get you home, Vanitas."

 _Fin._


End file.
